Hogwarts a High School
by Wihstrum
Summary: When Harry faces a change of environments, he is unaware that this change will stretch beyond a new school, a new home and a new routine. Between new friends and new rivals, Harry doesn't quite see what is about to hit him. AU HD
1. Lately

**Disclaimer: **I do_ not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Rating: **rated M for suggestiveness and language. (Any other scene not suited/allowed on FFnet will be posted on my own site. I will let you know.)

**Pairings: **Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Alex Ladon/Blaise Zabini, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger (and probably some minor others)

THIS STORY HAS BEEN RE-WRITTEN! EVERYTHING! SO READ IT AGAIN DAMN IT!

**Chapter One – Lately**

"_Is it okay if I sit here?" –Harry Potter_

The sun was shining brightly, and it was a lovely September day at the little town of Hogsmeade. Even though it was quite early in the morning, the sun burned and radiated off the pavement. It was one of those days to stay inside the house, relaxing in a bath, preferably if it was filled with ice cubes. But no such luck for students, because it was first day of school and the youngsters were once again trapped inside the large, ancient structure of Hogwarts High while all other people had sought the protection of their luxurious, air-conditioned houses, not daring to venture out and risk getting sunburned. There was only one person outside, a young man of seventeen, repeatedly hauling his backpack over his shoulder and muttering the directions under his breath.  
It was a healthy young man, athletic (a fortunate consequence of sporting regularly), yet tall and lithe. He was lacking in any real brawn, but made up for it in athletic poise. He had even, olive tanned skin, messy black hair, standing out in all possible angles, and spectacles. His jeans were a few sizes to big and his rather oversized t-shirt had started clinging to his back. His emerald green eyes studied the neighborhood and the perfectly mowed yards and the cars on the driveways getting increasingly fancier as he progressed further and further away from his own block.

He kicked an empty coke can out of the way and crossed the street to a rather old, yet clean, building. Hogwarts High. It somehow reminded him of an ancient, if modernized, castle. He stared at it rather moodily and heaved a sigh as he passed trough the main entrance, dragging his feet. Why had they been forced to move? He had been happy at his previous school. His house, his town, his school and most importantly his friends; he already missed them, and he hadn't even been here for what? Three days?

The hallways were rather deserted, save for some personnel and students trying to find their classrooms. He quickly located the office; he entered the fairly spacious room and walked up to the counter. The receptionist looked up and smiled, "New here?"

"Yes, I'm Harry Potter."

"Ah, yes, the new transfer student." She pointed to a door on his left, "He's been expecting you."

He thanked her, hauled his rucksack back on his shoulder and headed trough the indicated door.

A small sound of awe left his lips when he closed the door behind him. A huge, oak bookshelf took up one whole wall, filled with all kinds off dusty books from all centuries. Facing the door, in the middle of the room was a huge desk, littered with all kind of gadgets, pencils, clocks, postures and other objects he didn't even recognize. Sitting on a large, plush couch with a flowery pattern, was a man.

His hair was almost completely silver and the large window behind him made it come out like a halo. It must have been so long that he'd be able to tuck it into his belt. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles, resting on his very long and crooked nose.

"Harry Potter?" The elder man greeted the youth, his voice sounding pleasant and comforting, probably having welcomed more than one nervous student in this office.

"Yes." He answered, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

"I am Albus Dumbledore, Principal here at Hogwarts High. I'm pleased to have you here, have a seat." The wizened man said while sweeping his hand in an offering gesture to a second plush couch positioned in front of the principal's desk.

"Thank you," Harry replied timidly and dropped his backpack next to the couch and sat down on the edge. He fiddled with his fingers, rested them on his thighs, on the armrests and finally he simply crossed them over his chest.

Dumbledore gazed at him from over his interlocked fingers, aged knuckles knitted under stretched skin. "Your parents would be pleased to know you attended this college."

Harry's head came up with a snap, his eyes wide and unblinking "You knew my parents, sir?"

"Yes, it might have been a long time ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday." He was looking at the young man with a hint off nostalgia dancing in his eyes "You look like your father, but you have the eyes of your mother…"

Harry swallowed and looked down at his hands, now lying useless in his lap.

"Although I rather do hope you aren't set on living up to your father's legendary pursuit of mischief…" The man went on with a fond note in his bringing up of old memories.

Again, Harry nodded half-heartedly, his eyes fixed on the tips of his worn converse shoes.

It was a good thing Dumbledore noticed his discomfort and he quickly changed the subject. "Oh, I have your schedule here." He handed the documents over to Harry, whom accepted them with another polite reply. "I believe your first class should be Philosophy, class teacher is Professor Lupin, but I believe you already know him, don't you?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah, we live on the same block and I've known him for quite a while..."

"Is that so? Well, that should be interesting. He's also your homeroom teacher, by the way." The Principal smiled "Well, you'd better be off now Harry, otherwise you'll miss the name taking." Mr. Dumbledore stood, signaling the end of the meeting and guided Harry to the door. "Please stop by if you have any questions of any kind, or if you just want a nice cup of tea."

"Eeeh, I will… thank you sir." Harry said with a tentative smile at the last comment while he slipped through the door.

--

Balancing on two legs of his chair, leaning his elbow on the table behind him, Ronald Weasley lazily observed students dripping in one by one. He vaguely registered his girlfriend talking to Lavender Brown, whom was sitting at the table in front of theirs. Professor Lupin was sorting through some papers, the tip of his tongue between his lips as he did so.

"You're sinfully early for the first day of school…" A deep baritone voice commented from somewhere to his right.

Ron turned his eyes to his friend with a curious arch of his brows. Finbar Ganad was towering over him, grinning slightly with his hands shoved in his oversized baggy jeans and sunglasses sliding down his nose.

"But I just bet your _girlfriend _wouldn't have you getting late for your first day of school, now would she?" Finbar said casually as he sat down on the empty seat next to him, the grin only widening as Ron started blushing. He and Hermione hadn't been dating that long after all, only a month or so.

Ron and Hermione had been best friends from as long either of them could remember; their mothers were good friends and naturally when the one came over to visit the other, the children ended up with each other as company while their matriarchs easily gossiped hours away over some coffee. The tradition of hanging out together continued after they were send to the same kindergarten, same primary school and finally when they both attended the same High School; Hogwarts.

But as both youngsters matured and came to realization that their best friend _had grown up as well_, feelings neither had ever deemed possible they would have felt in consideration to the childhood friend, developed. Indecisive of how to react to those feelings, they argued and bickered over the stupidest things first, covering up their embarrassment and worries. Their state of denial had finally been terminated this summer, and it still was a quip among their circle of friends.

Meanwhile Finbar gave the curly haired young women a wink as he greeted her, "Hey Hermione."

"Hi, Finbar, nice tan!" she said as she turned her attention back to the two young men sitting besides her. "That reminds me, how as your vacation?"

"Australia was brilliant! Too bad it's already over, 'cause the kite-surfing there was just grand." He sighed longingly and took out a bottle of water from his backpack. "Did I miss out on much, last two weeks?"

Ron shook his head "Nah, same as usual; warm, sweaty and boring." He accepted the bottle Finbar offered him and he took a swig from it. "I was damn bored out of my mind without you guys here. Why did you all have to pick the last three weeks to go on vacation? Dean gone on football camp, Seamus back to Ireland, you off to Australia, Neville away with his gran."

"What about me?" Hermione asked, clearly put out, her hands on her hips.

Ron blinked and swallowed "Oh c'mon 'Mione, you've been bored, too, without Lavender or the Patil twins…"

Hermione narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, before resuming her chat with Lavender Brown, a pretty dark blonde haired girl who liked to squeal and giggle a lot. Unlike the ever studious Hermione, Lavender gave the impression of being rather silly and sometimes even shallow, though her friends knew she had a heart of gold.

"Girls." Finbar commented with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

"Tell me about it." Ron mumbled wryly, though not without a smile crinkling his eyes.

"Already missing the wonderful freedom of being a bachelor, Ronnie?"

Ron looked over his shoulder and straight into Dean and Seamus' grinning faces. "I am very happy with my current love-live, thank you very much!" he said with a smirk as he slipped an arm around Hermione's shoulders, "You're both just jealous because you're both incapable of finding a girl able to tolerate your presence longer than five minutes!"

Hermione send a pleading stare up to the ceiling at her boyfriend's immature reaction, but allowed Ron to pull her closer to steal a kiss nonetheless. Dean and Seamus looked at each other and began simultaneously making gagging noises, Finbar's baritone rumble from his chuckling joining in.

Unfortunately their intimate moment was short-lived as their Homeroom teacher's voice snapped them back to reality, "Mr. Weasley, could you please remove your lips from Miss Granger?"

Remus Lupin sniggered amusedly to himself at Ron's bright blush and stuttered apology. "Thank you. Before we go on with the register, there's a new classmate waiting outside to introduce himself…" he looked through to the open door. "C'mon in Harry, eh, Mr. Potter."

Ron's blue eyes took in the young man shuffling to the front of the class obviously not that thrilled to introduce himself before a whole audience of complete strangers, though Remus nodded at him encouragingly.

"My name's Harry Potter and I moved here three days ago…?" He blurted out meekly, gaze diverted to the ground. He shot a pleading look at Remus, as if begging to let him take his seat and away from the judging stares from the other students.

Professor Lupin sighed and indicated him to take place, noting to himself that Harry hadn't changed a bit when it came down to talking in front of people he didn't know.

Harry scrunched up his nose as his eyes scanned the classroom for empty seats. He came across an empty gap next to some guy with violently red hair. He quickly marched over to it.

"Is it okay if I sit here?" he queried tentatively.

Ron smiled and nodded, "Sure, go ahead," he said, moving his chair more to the left (and closer to Hermione while doing so) to give Harry some room.

Relieved, Harry lowered himself between the redhead and another guy with rather long, black hair.

"So, new in town eh?" Ron asked the raven head next to him.

Harry nodded while he accepted Ron's hand, shaking it firmly. "I'm Ron Weasley by the way and this is Hermione Granger."

Hermione smiled at him and mouthed a 'Hi' before turning her interest back to the teacher.

"She'll be willing to talk after class; Hermione has a rather _intense_ love for knowledge…" Ron whispered, rolling his eyes in an entertained manner, "and that weird guy to your right is Finbar Ganad."

"Hey!" Finbar reached over behind Harry to swat him, but Ron ducked. "Ignore him," he said with a nod of his chin toward Ron, "Nice to meet you."

Harry accepted his hand and shook it, grinning back at him and taking in the sight of the young man. Finbar had long black hair, loosely tied back in a ponytail, several strands dangling before his eyes which were a very light, bright blue. His clothing style was casual, two charms hanging around his neck and some leather bracelets around both his wrists. His white cotton shirt was loose and unbuttoned at the top three buttons, revealing a dark tribal tattoo curling out of it, continuing its travel from over his chest up to the right side of his neck. He wore oversized baggy jeans, sunglasses hanging from his belt.

"And sitting behind us are Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom." They all nodded and smiled respectively as Ron mentioned their names.

Dean Thomas was an afro-American with a wide smile and kind, deep brown eyes. He was flanked by Seamus Finnigan, a young Irish lad -judging from his thick brogue - with short sandy brown hair and clear blue eyes. Neville was a shy looking youth with a round face, but nevertheless remarkable in a way Harry couldn't quite put his finger on.

Ron continued the conversation, "So where have you moved to?"

"Becker's street, apartment block C, number thirty-two." Harry answered, curling his hands around the back edge of the chair and leaning his weight on them.

"Brilliant! Only a block away from me! Seamus, Dean and Neville live in the neighborhood, too. Hermio—" but the rest of Ron's sentence was cut of by a harsh sneer:

"Shove off little girl, I'm sitting there!" A slightly hoarse tenor snapped rather acidly.

Slightly annoyed at the obnoxious display, Harry turned to look over his shoulder until his scope of vision landed on its source. Somewhere in the back of the class was a young man glaring down at a rather scared looking girl. His silver hair caught the sunlight streaming through an open window, and he had gray eyes shining like shards of mirror, as dark as the cloudbursts that open from the heavens. His frame was smaller than Harry's, less muscular and powerful, his skin paler. Yet his face was more sculpted, with prominent cheekbones. Outfitted in a black sleeveless t-shirt and faded, baggy jeans, hanging low on his hips, the nameless youth swept his hair back with an annoyed hand gesture, but several strands flopped immediately back in his face. He wore a silver ring around his left thumb and his right eyebrow was pierced. Hanging around his neck on a black cord was a dark crystal, probably his birth or zodiac stone.

Ron groaned, his lips curling with disgust, "That's Malfoy, our local bully. He likes to pretend he owns the place around here…" Ron informed him in a strangled whisper, "He's a bloody git as he has just perfectly demonstrated."

Harry lifted an eyebrow as he saw the girl scurrying away with one last, fretful look over her shoulder and Malfoy taking up her place, sitting down with one graceful movement, oddly out of place for a guy with such an attitude. But demeanor of hell or not, he had already swept Harry's breath away; never had he seen such a devastatingly good-looking human being.

A young man with brown hair, hazel eyes and expensive designer clothes took up the seat next to him, his outfit was quite simple though, fancy yet worn casually, the sleeves of his white button-up shirt bunched up at his elbows; black tie dangling loose over his shoulders. He seemed to have this whole 'intellectual' look about him.

"Ron and he hate each other's guts," Finbar whispered in his ear.

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest, the movement causing the muscles in his arms to tighten, and smirked challengingly at Professor Lupin, who was rolling eyes at the display.

"Good to see you're as polite and curtly as always, Mr. Malfoy. Now if you please?" Lupin said dully waving the paper for the register taking.

"By all means, -_professor-_, go ahead," the entitlement was followed by a pause that clearly stated his lack of respect towards his superior.

Remus sighed tiredly, figuring the young man would never change, shook his head and started calling of names.

"Finnigan, Seamus."

"Aye!"

"Granger, Hermione."

"Present Sir!"

"Ladon, Alex."

No answer. Remus peered over his paper at the class, and an amused smile curled around his lips.

"Ladon?" he called again, eyes flying over the students seated in front of him.

"PRESENT!" someone abruptly yelled, slamming the door open and skidding to a stop. A slightly flushed and heavily breathing young woman had entered the classroom.

The vision Harry beheld was most _certainly_ nowhere near anything he had ever seen; she had an amazingly big bunch of dreadlocks, pure white and perfectly knotted, hanging halfway down her back. The strings of hair were adorned with all kinds of brightly colored wooden pearls and other trinkets, occasionally tinkling as they brushed against each other. She was wearing a once red, but now faded blouse. She also wore baggy denims, hanging low on her hips, torn at her left knee. Around both wrists were several bracelets, mostly with shells or wooden pearls, and on both hands were silver rings. She had a tanned skin, and her nose and cheeks were littered with very small freckles. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were as equally white as her hair. Harry guessed she was no taller than 5'3", but she had a slight yet wiry built and was graced with generous curves obvious even in her over-sized outfit.

"I'm sososososososoooo sorry Professor Lupin, really so so so sorry. I overslept." Came the rushed apology, her voice rather raw for a girl, yet pleasant. Still panting slightly she cracked an eye open and looked the teacher.

"That's okay Miss Ladon, but you missed the introduction of our new student." He said with an amused look on his face as he regarded his student, "Take a seat now, you can meet him later."

Alex heaved a sigh, muttered a thank you and strode over to the back of the class, dropping herself next to Malfoy who was arching his pale eyebrows questioningly at her. She rested her skateboard –previously hanging from the straps of her rucksack- against the wall.

"But I must commend you Miss Ladon, I think you just broke your record, late on the first day of school." Remus commented her with a little grin, before turning back to the calling of the register.

"That's Malfoy's girlfriend, Alex." Ron provided Harry in meanwhile, casting a glance over his shoulder and making shifty eyes.

"The famous hip-to-hip duo, never seen apart." Dean added, leaning in from over his bench.

Finbar had a skeptical frown as muttered "And never seen kissing…"

Lupin finished calling names and raised his voice to cover the idle chatter, "Okay, get your books open on page eleven…" he watched them do as they were told, before something else popped back in mind, "Oh, before I forget, the whole werewolf thing might have been amusing last year, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd knock it off, I'm kind of tired of seeing lower years approaching me with silver objects…" he shot a particular dark glare in Draco's direction who didn't even bother to shield his gleeful smirk.

--

Lunchtime came rather quickly and Harry found himself sitting at a table alone, sipping his lemonade and un-wrapping the sandwiches he'd made hurriedly that morning. His emerald eyes darted around the crowd of people, their noisy tumult circulating around him as he sat there observantly.

People-watching was a private hobby Harry liked to busy himself with when he happened to be in a throng of unfamiliar people by himself and nothing to do. It was a rather entertaining habit he had developed over time, and it never failed to amuse him. The little flock of lower year girls seated on the table next to them were trying to live up to the dimwitted airhead attitude that screamed wanna-be-cheerleader whilst trying to draw the attention with their squeals of delight of some group jocks sitting near them. Complete with bouncy movements, over-use of make-up and popping pink bubblegum. He imagined them dressing up in high heels and mini-skirts, desperately following the latest fashion trends and getting drunk at parties trying to be cool. Definitely the kind he hated the most.

"Excuse me."

Snapping out of his musings with a little jump, the raven head reflexively looked up and had to shield his eyes from the disgusting bright pink –thing- standing before him.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

It was followed by a giggle and before Harry had even the chance to reply, she'd already sat herself down opposite of him and looked at him from under long, mascara-ed eyelashes. She had a short black bob and the most disgusting pink dress Harry had ever seen in his entire life.

"I'm Pansy Parkinson, you are?" she offered with a giggle.

"Harry." The ground out as politely as he could muster, though a difficult feat seeing as he was dealing with an even _worse_ case of dimwitted airheadness than the little entourage of lower years he'd been studying.

"Ah yes, the new transfer student. So how do you like it here? I always—" and then the sassy girl started droning on and on about various kinds of things and all Harry was able to, was to stare at her, fervently hoping the building would collapse and squash everything (especially her, twice,) but him.

"So then I said to her 'Millicent, darling, you'd better switch over to that fat-free diet yoghurt I've been eating… -"

He could always try to kill her with his straw, but then again he'd have to get closer to the pink dress, thus risking going blind. But maybe it was worthwhile after all. His right eye twitched.

"Ah Harry, there you are."

Ron Weasley, the redhead next to whom he had sat during Philosophy this morning, put his hand consolingly on Harry's shoulder, while frowning down at Pansy as he towered over her. The youth had never in his life been so relieved to see someone and he had to suppress the urge to jump up and grab hold of Ron's leg, and beg him never to leave him alone again.

"I might figure you'd like a little tour around our school, with us both sharing a few classes and all." Ron offered gently, tugging his new classmate up to his feet.

Harry nodded fervently and had his bag packed within a heartbeat, standing besides Ron and slowly letting out a breath in relief.

"So, _if _you don't mind Parkinson, and I'm sure Harry would just _love_ to listen to your fascinating adventures some more, but his studies and grades go first now don't they?" Ron went on as he grabbed Harry's arm just above the elbow and led him away, without listening to Pansy's spluttering objections.

Hermione and Seamus were standing at the exit of the cafeteria, the Irish boy trying to keep Pansy on the other side of the hall with a surprisingly dark glare. They followed Ron, still holding Harry's arm, through the hallways and outside to the basketball court. The three boys slumped down against the wall while Hermione sat down opposite of them, neatly folding her legs underneath herself.

"Alright there mate?" Ron asked Harry, his blue eyes studying him worriedly from under red bangs.

Harry nodded, slowly coming out of his stupor "It was horrible."

Seamus patted his knee, looking genuinely sorry for him. "I feel fer ya mate…"

--

The rest of that day passed for Harry in a surprisingly pleasant way, accompanied by his new 'friend' Ronald Weasley, who seemed to have 'adopted' him. Harry had really dreaded the fact that he had to leave his 'old' friends behind, fearing that in his ineptness of spontaneous socializing he would end up alone and miserable in this new environment. It wasn't that Harry was antisocial and aloof, not at all, but he found it rather strenuous to just start talking about something to person he didn't know, especially after how he'd been treated by most strangers at his old place.

But Ron was a fantastic guy, he was talkative, had a wonderful sense of humor, seemed genuinely interested in whatever Harry had to say, and never grew tired of answering his questions. And as they spend most of their first day of school together they both unconsciously took a fond liking of one other, and though not by words they mutually decided that they could make great friends.

It was when they were slowly heading towards their last course of the day, Biology, both laughing merrily at their poking fun at each other, that they encountered Draco Malfoy for the second time that day.

At first neither of them had actually seen him heading right towards them from the opposite direction, until Malfoy deliberately shouldered Ron rather roughly, causing the redhead to stumble and bump into Harry in turn.

"You stupid bloody bastard!" Ron immediately lashed out, whirling around to find Malfoy already facing him.

He wore a haughty smirk on his face, regarding Ron as if he were a disgrace to nature, "I am _so_ sorry, Weasel-bee… I do hope you can forgive me?" he leered, pressing a hand to his chest mockingly.

At his joke, though how lame it was, both his fleshy cronies, Crabbe and Goyle sniggered obediently. Both parties stood there glaring at each other darkly, hoping that the other would wither and die from the sheer contempt they hosted for one other.

Harry flanked Ron uncertainly, himself staring disbelievingly at Malfoy's holier-than-thou attitude, which was already starting to get on his nerves. And as he watched the blonde's anger-clouded eyes flicker over to _him_, Harry was reminded that the person who was writing the script for his life really had a sadistic sense of humor; putting such a superficial and insufferable persona in such a enticingly expressive body.

Then a hollow tapping of footsteps neared on them and Harry immediately recognized the many, _many_ dreadlocks of Malfoy's very own girlfriend striding determinately towards them. His first reaction was naturally a groan of resentment, fearing that things now really were going to take a turn for the worse. But, to his ever-lasting surprise, they didn't.

Just as Draco moved to look over his shoulder, slightly annoyed that he was being interrupted, Alex scuffed him rather hard over the back of his head, causing Malfoy to hiss indignantly.

"Stop pretending to be such a bloody asshole." She bit angrily at him under her breath, giving him a shove at the shoulder in the opposite direction to emphasize this point. Her green eyes lingered apologetically on Ron and Harry for a moment before she turned on Crabbe and Goyle, "As for you two morons," Alex said threateningly, taking a step closer, "SHOVE OFF!"

Harry felt almost embarrassed in the two dimwits' place when they actually _did_ cower away quickly, though they were facing a girl two heads smaller than them.

In meanwhile, a furiously blushing Draco Malfoy was arguing heatedly with his girlfriend as she dragged him away.

"What the hell was that all about?" Harry asked, slightly dumbfounded as to why Malfoy's _own girlfriend_ had just stood up for them.

Ron's red eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully as he peered in the direction the couple had gone, before slowly answering "Alex is… alright…I guess. Has her moral values straight."

--

The bell rang, signaling the ending of the last course, and thus a pack of jubilant teenagers stormed out of school. Well, they weren't all jubilant teenagers. Amidst the drumming crowd of youngsters, a lean figure with white-blonde hair and striking gray eyes ambled moodily homewards, his hands trust deeply into his back pockets, glaring ahead. On his left side he was accompanied by a brown haired young man, regarding his ire blonde friend with enigmatic hazel eyes.

Blaise Zabini frowned at Draco's popping vein in his left temple, an impending sign of doom. "Aren't you taking the bus Draco?" he ventured carefully.

"I'll walk," the other snapped, not even turning to look at him

Blaise momentarily considered saying something else, but decided against it and left Draco alone to wallow in his own little world of self-pity and wounded pride. Besides, Alex was catching up on them, barely able to keep the enormous map tucked under her arm, with her first drawings of the year probably inside. Better to let her handle Draco's foul mood, it was somewhat her fault after all.

"Vein," He said as she fell into pace next to him, shooting her a meaningful look.

Muttering something slightly annoyed under her breath, she scrunched up her nose and quickly pecked Blaise goodbye on the cheek.

Alex took a few jumpy steps, before falling into stride with Draco, eyeing him wearily. She almost had to jog next to him of she wanted to keep up with the lean youth's vengeful steps, his long legs marching him straight home. Her lips parted to say something.

"Don't," he growled.

"My, my, my… aren't we in a lovely mood today?" Alex grabbed his arm rougher than perhaps necessary, pulling him to a stop. In response, Draco wrenched his wrist free and crossed his arms angrily across his chest, leering at her from over his nose. Though the gesture appeared strangely defensive, too, as if trying to protect himself against the indignity of having been too obvious considering his emotions.

Alex couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes heavenward, silently pleading whatever divinity that was up there for patience, "Oh, I see, still pissed about this afternoon…"

Draco snorted, but a flicker of injured dignity betrayed him as it flashed through his eyes.

Mimicking his pose unconsciously, Alex heaved an annoyed sigh, "C'mon Drake, you know I _won't_ stand for your _I'm-the-almighty-pain-in-the-ass_ attitude towards Ron and his friends, it's just so…so…so" she hesitated, trying to pin down the right word, "Pathetic."

"WHAT?" he screamed, flecks of spit spraying from his mouth, but further protests were immediately silenced by Alex's sharp pinch in his nose. The nose-pinching was definitely one of the things he really, _really_ disliked the most about her.

"Shut it blondie!" she drawled with a dangerous sort of patience, watching Draco grabbing for his nose with a wounded expression on his face, as if she'd severed it instead of just twisting it, "You," she continued, prodding him in the chest, "have issues. And I," she prodded again, "am tired of them."

This was followed by a staring contest, both glaring at each other, teeth bared, electricity crackling between them. Suddenly Alex reached out and pinched his nose again, Draco letting out an undignified squeak. He rubbed his nose and shot her an irritated look. "I hate it when you do that."

"That being the reason why I keep doing it in the first place." she retorted easily, sensing that Draco was wordlessly letting their disagreement go. She took the peace-offering all too gratefully, fully knowing how painful it could be to argue the matter until someone came out victoriously.

Draco let his eyes roll back and he drew in a breath, trying to steady his nerves. He changed subject instead, "What are you doing the rest of the day?"

"I promised them _'Bambi' _tonight. You can come over and watch if you like." Alex grinned at him, her right eyebrow arching questioningly.

Feigning a pensive expression briefly, as if he even were seriously considering the suggestion, before changing it to a skeptical frown, "I think I'll pass…" and then let the corners of his mouths quirk up in a smirk, a gesture Alex swore he practiced in the mirror, "See you tomorrow then?"

"Yup." Gracing him with a wink and a gentle smile, Alex dropped her skateboard to the ground and put her left foot on it. With a derisive salute, she set off her foot on the pavement, putting the scruffy board with faded hippy patterns in motion.

The pair parted, both heading for complete opposites of Hogsmeade, Draco hearing the rhythmic rolling of the wheels moving further away. "Don't be late tomorrow!" he called out, not bothering to look over his shoulder.

--

Harry read and re-read the note Ron had stuffed him in his hand before they parted, smiling brightly for the first time after he heard they were moving. Ron's cell-phone number. His first friend. He skipped up the stairs, passing on using the rickety elevator, and hurried up to the third floor. He fidgeted with the key and the lock, until he heard a click and he pushed the door open, still looking at the paper with the digits on it. Green eyes still glued to Ron's sloppy scribble, Harry dropped his backpack carelessly on the way in, calling, "Back!"

His only response was some metallic clattering in the kitchen and he knew his Godfather was trying to cook. Even after fifteen years of practice, Sirius Black remained an awful –not to mention deadly- cook. The trashing was followed by some shameless cursing and finally a disgruntled; "Would you mind helping out here, Harry?"

Taking a long, deep breath, preparing himself for the worst, Harry stuffed the note in his pocket. Poking his head into the kitchen with a weary glance, he found Sirius trying to shake some disturbingly purple-looking substance of his hand. "Fucking." Fling "Stupid." Fling, fling. "Food."

Handing him a wad of napkins, Harry skipped hurriedly over to the pot, eyed it for a while before lifted the lid up carefully. Standing on his toes and peeking in from a safe distance, he still was greeted by a waft of unbearable stench billowing out of it, burning his nostrils and making his eyes water. "What were _attempting_ to cook, anyways?" He coughed miserably, rubbing at his eyes with a hand.

"Spaghetti…" Sirius deadpanned, his lips dropping into a tight frown.

"Seriously…" Harry snorted with a raised dark eyebrow, rumpling the lightening-shaped scar above his eye comically "Purple spaghetti? You've totally overdone yourself this time Sirius…"

"Yes, _ha-ha_, very funny. I buggered something up." Sirius groaned in embarrassment, looking sincerely flustered.

Trying to force his suspiciously twitching lips to remain sealed, Harry adverted his gaze, trying to spare his Godfather his glee. But at Sirius' utterly disgusted grimace, the laughter spluttered through his lips before having to bend over as the sounds of amusement filled the kitchen. Not able to repress a sheepish grin either, Sirius removed the pot, heading for the toilet to flush the purple mess down. Still sniggering, Harry took the necessary tools to cook them albeit a simple, but edible, meal.

--

"Hermione," said Ron, almost like a plea, "Can we please, _please_, go home now? What do you need all those books for, anyway? School has barely started."

For a change, he had to look up to see her face, which was currently an image of complete concentration. The small stool on which she was standing put her at an advantage in height; Ron's nose now reaching just under her shoulders.

"Because Ronald," said Hermione grimly, "Unlike_ you_, I think that passing my last year _is _rather important." She had not even diverted her gaze from her study of the book spines, her finger slowly continuing to trail and pause at each title. Every now and then she would pull out a book, leaf through its contents and perhaps pile it on the towering collection Ron was holding in his arms.

"But it's the first day of school!" exclaimed the redhead again, trying to glance around his burden of books. He watched how Hermione, ignoring him, was peering at the bold title on one of the backs, an inch separating her nose from it. Then she plucked it out, flapped it open, pored through its contents and ended up adding it to her collection as well. Ron's knees began to tremble under its increasing weight.

"Don't you think you have quite enough now?" he ground out, trying to shift the weight closer to his chest, but causing book-pillar to sway ominously.

"…Just one more." She muttered, tucking a strand of frizzy brown hair behind her ear. Finally satisfied with her selection –the last book being the biggest one yet- she hopped down and set of for a table, Ron staggering behind her.

What seemed like an eternity to Ron, and what actually was half an hour, Hermione continued to go through book after book, every now and then heading over to the copy-machine to get a sample from a page she found particularly interesting. She probably would have to pay quite lot money to pay for all those copies. Ron knew why she was so keen on 'being prepared'. As it was their last year, classes had become more in-depth in their chosen fields and Hermione, surprising everybody had had a last moment's change of heart and switched subjects this year. Normally, the teachers would disallow this, but in Hermione's case, knowing that she would fight for her grades, they had given her a go ahead until Christmas. Then they would evaluate her grades and if they had dropped dramatically, she would have to pick back up her previous field courses.

"So, who else is in your field? That Colin Creevey kid, I thought, wasn't he?" asked Ron, trying to make a conversation.

Hermione didn't even looked up from the passage in her copies she was high-lighting. "Colin is a sixth year, Ron, _and_ he's in photography, which is Malfoy's field, and not Journalism."

With a firm line she finished covering the part she would need with a bright yellow color, frowned at it in a critical manner and then looked up. Ron was staring glazy-eyed into the distance, his arms loosely crossed over the table. Feeling just a tiny bit guilty for dragging Ron along to the one place he absolutely resented, she elaborated somewhat more on his question. "But Zabini's in my Journalism classes, real quiet one, him, and Luna Lovegood is a year below me."

"Loony Lovegood? In Journalism?" Ron said with a disbelieving class, "Isn't her dad the owner from the Quibbler?" at Hermione's nod he almost shouted, "but they deal with all that paranormal stuff like aliens and the monster of Loch Ness! Isn't Journalism all about facts and the truth and things like that!"

"That was what I thought, too." said the young woman with a tiny laugh of her own. "And what about your classes? Is Harry in them, seeing as you two seem to get along so well?"

Ron shook his head, "Nope, It's still just Seamus and me. Harry's in Literature."

Startled, she blinked at him. "Literature?"

"Uh-huh, don't ask, he doesn't quite seem like the type of guy to me either."

Biting her bottom-lip thoughtfully she bowed back over her pages, then added somewhat softly, as if only saying it to herself, "Just as you wouldn't expect Malfoy to be in photography."

---

Title credits go Lost Prophets – Lately.

This chapter has not yet been beta-ed!


	2. Beautiful Day

**Disclaimer: **I do_ not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Chapter Two – Beautiful Day**

"_As long as Harry doesn't swing my way, it's cool." –Ron Weasley_

On a dark wooden nightstand a digital alarm clock burst out in a chorus of high-pitched, almost nasal, _'Eep, Eep, Eep'_s'

A muffled groan came from a disgruntled sleep-mussed mass of black hair. Snuggling almost catlike into the pillow, a highly disorientated hand crawled over the smooth wooden surface, groped around on it and then with one well-aimed tap the rattling the alarm clock was silenced.

Meanwhile, at the dinner table, Sirius sipped his coffee and thumbed through his newspaper. When the sound of Harry's digital alarm clock came to an abrupt stop, he counted inwardly to ten.

…_eight…nine…ten:_ Sirius finished, making shifty eyes over the edge of his newspaper.

"Fuck! What time is it? What day is it? Where _am_ I?" came the predictable morning-ritual soon joined by some stumbling and cursing followed by Harry tripping over something –probably Nyoka- and then again a cranky mumble. The door of his room slammed open, nearly unhinging as it connected with the wall, revealing a highly groggy and grouchy young man, the impact echoing through the whole apartment block.

He didn't even bother to look up as Harry whirled by and into the bathroom, causing Sirius' bangs to brush his forehead. The sound of streaming water followed. Meanwhile Sirius prepared a glass of fresh orange juice for him and went back to reading his newspaper. A shudder ran up his spine when he felt a disturbingly familiar slick yet scaly brush against his legs.

"Ack, Nyoka, knock it off!" Sirius scowled, pulling his legs up his chair. He lowered his newspaper and saw the split tongue of Nyoka darting at him, as if to spite him. Christ, why had he ever allowed Harry to buy a boa constrictor? He didn't understand how his Godson was able to _sleep_ with that thing coiled up on his bed.

The door of the bathroom opened again and a freshly washed Harry came back out, looking considerably more approachable, drying his hair with a towel, the black strands standing out as he did so. He walked over to the table and took a swig from his orange juice, thanking Sirius. Then he spotted Nyoka looking up at him, her slit eyes almost reproaching.

Harry lowered himself to his haunches, "Sorry, sweetie, I didn't mean to yell at you." he cooed at the serpent while petting it on the head, making some hissing sounds himself. The snake responded with a raspinghiss and narrowed her eyes at the caress, tongue dangling lazily from her mouth.

Sirius rolled his eyes as he saw Harry apologizing profusely to his ten-foot long snake, returning to his paper whist shaking his head slightly in exasperation.

After one last fond look, he stormed back to his room, his bare torso still glinting wet from the shower. Harry rummaged through some of the boxes, hoping to find a clean t-shirt. Spotting his favorite cobalt blue one, he unceremoniously yanked it out of the box, messing up the other garments in the progress. He'd really have to put the closet together one of these days so he'd be able to store his clothes away. Luckily for him he'd already packed his rucksack yesterday evening. With a sigh he slipped into the seat opposite of Sirius and he filled a bowl with cereal.

He jumped slightly in surprise when Sirius suddenly yelped rather unmanly, pulling his legs up again. "Tell your…your… _worm_ to lie down, he's doing this purposely I tell you!"

As if on cue Nyoka backed off, slid over to Harry and coiled around his right leg. Absentmindedly he scratched her under her chin, "Is Sirius being mean to you again?" he shot Sirius a feigned look of anger and added, "It's a she, Sirius, not a he."

Sirius grumbled and disappeared behind his paper again. Sniggered at the antics, Harry made some sandwiches for his lunch that day.

--

Approaching the gates of the school he saw the bright mop of red hair, which he had come to recognize as Ron's. So imagine his surprise when there wasn't one mop of red hair, but four. The red-haired youth spotted him as well and gestured for him to come over. A smile tugged at his lips, feeling overly elated to be able to go to someone and not having to stand there on his own, waiting for the bell. As he approached him, the three other redheads came into focus: One was a smaller, feminine version of Ron, red hair hanging around her shoulders like a mane, two bright brown eyes looking up at him. The other was a very tall guy with a stocky build, hair equally fiery as Ron's and the girl. And the fourth person was, well, exactly the same as the third. Twins.

"Hi mate!" Ron greeted him his wide blue eyes locking with his as he clapped him amiably on the back. Then he cocked his head two the twins "Those two are my brothers Fred and George." Both flashed a grin at the mention of their name and Harry was only able to tell them apart because Fred's t-shirt was red and George's golden-yellow.

"And this is my little sister, Ginny." Ron finished, wrapping an arm around the long-haired girl's shoulders.

Harry smiled and greeted them, letting his eyes travel over the Weasley siblings, eyes lingering on the twins again, trying to find a physical feature that might allow him to tell the one from the other. But found none.

"Guys, meet Harry Potter, the new guy in my class." Ron went on with his introductions.

Before further conversation was possible, Hermione joined them, her large quantity of hair as bushy as ever. Ron murmured something, a blush coloring him to the roots of his hair and kissed her timidly on the cheek.

"Eeew." Fred (red t-shirt) elbowed George (golden-yellow t-shirt), "Might want to go fetch a bucket, George… "

George nodded exchanging a significant look with his twin brother, "They're like _drooling_ _all_ over each other!" he joked at Ron's reluctance to show affection towards his girlfriend in public, of course this amused the twins greatly. Even a month later, Ron and Hermione still held hands, kissed and acted like kids in primary school when it came down to their relationship. Not that they were embarrassed about the way they felt towards each other, but more so because, in reality, their bond was more serious than one could tell.

As the moment was officially ruined, Hermione put her hands on her hips and looked at them from under her curly brown bangs, "What are you two doing here?" she said reprovingly.

George pretended to be hurt and sighed dramatically "You'd almost think she didn't like us…"

"Oh c'mon George, everybody likes us," the other replied sardonic, pulling up eyebrows, and then he added with a little more after-thoughtful, "Except maybe that kid from third grade."

"And that girl whose braid we cut off two years ago," George added.

"And that pug-nosed girl… what's her name? Pissy? Pinky? The Pink Monster of Doom?"

"Pansy," Ginny informed them, giggling behind her hand.

"Ah yes, that one too…" both twins mused introspectively.

Smiling, Harry saw Ron giving Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek causing the twins to clasp their hands together, both crowing a long drawn 'Aaaaw…'  
Ron shot them one last dark glare as the bell rang, signaling the start of their first course: Chemistry.

The two friends were still chatting animatedly as the answered the Chemistry class. Harry and Ron plunked down somewhere in the back, without Hermione, since she went to sit with some other girl in the front, a girl Hermione said, that _did_ take her education serious _unlike someone_. Ron was just coming to a plot in his joke when the door slammed open ominously, nearly startling Harry enough to topple of his chair. Wide eyed, Harry spun his head, looking at the tall, greasy-haired man that had swept in, black robe billowing behind him dramatically.

Harry bowed his head over to Ron, not noticing the redhead's tightly pressed shut lips. "Who does he think he is? Batman or something?" the raven head asked.

With a menacing glare, the black-clad man wheeled around with an audible whirl off his robe. "What did you just say there?" he drawled softly, causing Harry to slump back in his seat.

"Nothing sir." He crooked, straightening himself again as he tried to shake of the unnerving feeling that the man's eyes were drilling into his head.

"What's your name?" he snapped.

"Harry Potter," he answered and added quickly, "Sir."

"Potter eh? I'd watch your tongue if I were you," he left the looming threat trailing, smirking at Harry horribly before whirling around and continuing back up to the front of the class. "You will address me as _Mr. Snape_ and since most of us had the _pleasure_ to meet last year, you all know I'll be teaching you the subtle and exact science of Chemistry…"

Harry glared from under his dark bangs at his Chemistry teacher, wondering whether or not he'd been practicing this speech. 'Maybe he's a vampire?' He thought idly when he noticed Snape's awfully pale complexion contrasting with the greasy, ink black of his hair.

"…don't you think so Mr. Potter?" was the only thing Harry had been able to catch through his brooding.

His fingers clenched tightly around his pen, "Excuse me sir, could you repeat that question…?" he knew it was in vain to ask, but he figured that he wouldn't appear that moronic if he just tried to reign his explosive temper.

Snape's left eye twitched and Harry just_ knew_ he was in trouble.

--

Ron patted Harry consolingly on his back, his new friend still in shock. 'Ten bloody pages concerning the history about something called Philosopher's Stone', Harry's mental voice screamed out in disbelief, 'The darn thing was a myth after all, and this was Chemistry for Christ's sake, not History.' A, low, miserable groan left his throat and Harry hid his face in his hands. "I'm dead, aren't I?" he muttered dejectedly.

"Kinda." Finbar deadpanned.

"Yeah," Neville chimed in, "Once he picks you out, he's not letting go again."

Ron was feeling genuinely sorry for him. After all, if Snape decided that a student deserved to face his cruel spite, he'd do anything to make your life miserable. And just dropping your pen on the wrong moment during his explanation could be enough to deserve just that and worse. Though Snape had never particularly singled him out –that honor had so far been granted solely to Neville- Ron _did_ know how the taste of the utter humiliation the Chemistry Professor could put you through.

"Cheer up Harry," he tried, taking a bite from his sandwich, continuing a little more muffled, "Why don't we all go out for pizza sometime later to celebrate your wonderful acquaintance to the Greasy Bat?"

Harry suddenly felt a lot better. "Pizza?"

Blue eyes sparkled at him, "The very best, mate!"

--

"Catch!" Draco said, throwing the ball over to Alex. Reacting quickly she jumped up and snatched the ball out of the air before Blaise could. She bounced it a few times; grinning wolfishly at Gloves whom was trying to block her. She arched an eyebrow in unspoken challenge; quickly turning she slipped past his defense and made a beeline over to the hoop where Draco was waiting. She gave a pass over to him and he caught it, skipping it through the hoop. The ball bounced off the plate and through the ring. Smirking, he dusted himself off, looking as if he were above all other mortals.

"That's free dinner for us then." Alex wagged her eyebrows, standing besides him.

Gloves scrunched up his nose in disappointment, while Blaise leaned the palms of his hands on his knees, taking in sporadic gulps of air, trying to even his breath again. There was a singing sensation between his ears and Blaise blamed it on the on the sultry autumn evening rather than on his slacking physical condition. As the buzz in his head ended, he became more aware again of the world around him. The familiar laughter of playing children reached his ears, as did the rustling of the wind in leaves on the trees providing them some very-welcome shade.

Finally he raised himself to his full height again, a lanky six feet, swiping his sweaty hand palms off on his long shorts, "It's not fair, you two always win," the aristocrat complained.

"Ah, but you guys always accept a challenge," Alex pointed out, wagging a finger in Blaise's face.

Blaise narrowed his eyes in displeasure, "Besides, dad would kick my sorry arse if he found me going out for dinner like this..."

Gloves shot him a curious look, looking right through his excuse, "Oh right, like it matters. Drop the show; it's just the four of us." 

Snorting, Blaise looked up at the tall, gangly young man. Gloves was a childhood friend of Alex's, he was very tall and had broad shoulders due to all the manual labor he did. He had dark brown hair, which was due for a haircut, his uneven fringes hiding deep blue eyes. But his most prominent feature was the long red scar over his right cheek; it started at the outer corner of his right eye and ended over the corner of his lips. Everybody knew the history of that scar and dispite it demanded respect from all of his friends; Gloves hated it.

Meanwhile Alex was rummaging in her rucksack, finding what she was looking for; she pulled it out of the bag. She handed Draco his clean t-shirt, "Besides its _Everlinds_ Blaise, nobody cares whether you walk in wearing a tux or a comfy and sweaty sports outfit." she countered.

Giving his crumpled t-shirt a vaguely disgusted look, Draco sighed deeply. When he saw Alex looking at him with a don't-you-dare-complain glare, he unbuttoned his blouse and handed it over to the dread-head.

Stuffing the ball into her bag along with his blouse, she asked, "Drake, won't your dad go bonkers if you don't return for dinner?"

He straightened the black t-shirt and mumbled, "I don't care." His tone was not exactly one of anger, but it was clear enough that he did not want to talk about it.

--

"But what about me?" Sirius asked, his tone having a desperate edge to it. Surely Harry wouldn't leave him alone to experience a horrible death through starvation? Harry didn't expect him, Sirius Black, _to cook_?

Holding the wooden construction upright with one hand so it wouldn't crash down unto Harry and his other hand patting the ground to his right until he came over the screwdriver, Sirius awaited his Godson's response. The ebony haired youth was crouched over oddly; his upper torso twisting sideways while leaning over so he could install the shelve for the closet they were trying to put together. A hand motioned for the screwdriver.

Sirius placed the tool in Harry's questioning hand and continued in an even more sulky fashion, "What am I supposed to eat?"

A muffled grunt was Harry's immediate answer as he tried wringing the vice into the right position, having to work against his hand. Having succeeded, he sat back on his hunches, dragging his lower arm over his brow and taking a steadying breath. Then he looked up, arching a dark eyebrow, "Remus lives only one floor up. Go beg him for food and spend some quality time together. I bet he would appreciate you paying him a visit."

Nodding thoughtfully, Sirius figured that the young man was right. Though a constant in his life, it _had_ been long since Remus and he had had a moment to sit down and actually _talk_ together. No chit-chat about the weather or asking how the other's life is going on for the sake of it, but really _talk_ together. At least Sirius was sure he would enjoy that.  
Remus and he had been best friends from the moment they'd met. Though his friendship with his was significantly different from what it had been with James; Harry's father. James Potter and Lilly Evans had died in a horrible accident not long after little Harry Potter had been born. It had cut a deep hole into his soul, one which still hadn't mend today, and probably never would. If it weren't for Remus, he'd probably lost track of his life. In a way, it was thanks to little Harry, too. As his Godfather it had been Sirius' responsibility to look after him when James and Lilly had passed away. If he hadn't, the young Harry Potter would have been condemned to live with his horribly aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley. With Remus' help, he had been able to raise him to be the wonderful person he was today. It had not been without bumps and holes in the road, but to be honest, Sirius was damn proud at Harry. He just hoped that James and Lilly were, too.  
While Remus and he were doing their very best to ensure that the young Potter grew into the person his parents would have wanted him to be, the two men grew a bond which would perhaps go beyond friendship. It was in little things that this was apparent, and at times Sirius was certain that this 'bond' was there, other days though, he figured he was probably imagining it. Imagining it because he wanted it too desperately.

Finding Harry smirking at him in a knowing way, Sirius forced his intimidate thoughts aside and muttered rather belatedly, "Sounds like a plan…"

Rolling his eyes and having a secretive smile on his lips, Harry turned back to the closet, tugging heartily at the construction, checking whether it was solid enough.

When the doorbell rang exactly at six thirty-one in the evening, Harry's head shot up with a nervous jerk –only to crash rather painfully against the windowsill. He had been rummaging through the carton boxes yet again, in vain trying to find a t-shirt that would –in Harry's opinion- be suited to go to a pizza restaurant without appearing too dressed up nor too casual. Perhaps he was looking into this a little too much, but he wanted to make a good impression. He really, really wanted Ron Weasley to like him. Not that he would change or put up any pretense to get in the redhead's favor, he wasn't about to do that. He never changed who and what he was for anybody. But Ron had proven to be a wonderful person to be around so far and Harry just didn't quite feel like going out in his faded and shabby t-shirt for the occasion.

Instead he grabbed the next best sport shirt he could find, held it at eye height and gave it a critical look, before finally slipping it hastily over his head. With a muffled noise his head popped through, his black hair standing out fluffily. Meanwhile he heard Sirius footfalls move through the apartment to get the door which rang noisily for a second time. Scrambling over to the other side of his room, trying to pull on a sneaker in the progress, Harry turned over his rucksack which he had carelessly abandoned earlier today in a forgotten corner of his room. Snatching his mobile phone, ID and wallet from the contents, the youth was finally ready to leave.

His right hand already reaching out and clutching the doorknob, Harry paused one last time to run his index and middle finger over the thick, slick body of the dozing boa constrictor. He wordlessly promised to bring home some leftovers –because believe it or not, she ate pizza.

He let the door open a creak, so that Nyoka would be able to leave the room if she wished to do so later that evening. He found Sirius exchanging polite talk with Ron as he entered the hallway. The redhead was grinning brightly and turned his blue eyes to Harry when he caught him coming up a little stand-offish from behind Sirius, not wanting to interrupt.

"Hey mate!" he greeted enthusiastically, looking over Sirius' shoulder at Harry. "Ready for the best pizza in town?" He said as seriously as possible, as if he were announcing that they were about to go on a mission to save mankind's future.

"Bring it on." Harry replied darkly, squaring his shoulders and arching a brow. Then, in perfect simultaneous he and Ron grinned at each other.

Sirius observed the amiable exchange, feeling as if there was some weight taken of his shoulders now he knew that at least Harry would already have one friend in the near future. He realized, perhaps better than Harry himself did, how hard it had been for the young man to leave his childhood – and closest friend back in London.

"Tell Remus I said 'hi'!" Harry said suddenly, the sudden sound of his deep tenor –bordering on baritone- voice startling Sirius out of his silent contemplation.

"Right. Now be a good boy, and don't be don't too late, Harry-Warry, it's still school tomorrow!" Sirius joked, taking on a female chirp and ruffling Harry's hair hard enough to shake the young man's head as his fingers raked through the thick, unruly, ebony locks.

Grumbling, Harry ducked out of reach, appearing behind Ron in the hallway. "Sure thing, _mom_." He replied sarcastically, his eyes staring at the ceiling, causing his forehead to rumple. With a wave and a boyish smile Harry raised his hand, while Ron went to stand by his side. The door clicked shut behind them as the two friends jogged down the stairs, already snickering.

Little less than fifteen minutes later Ron had lead Harry through the maze of small streets and walkways that made up that particular part of town and their neighborhood. Though he had tried, Harry was quite sure he wouldn't be able to trace his way back home without getting at least lost four or five times. The houses and apartment blocks were perhaps more timeworn and humble than where the school was located, but it didn't make Harry sense anxious. The atmosphere was relaxed, there were plenty of enjoyable sounds –such as children playing on the sidewalk even at this hour- and traffic here was calm. It made Harry become strangely nostalgic for no apparent reason other than feeling surprisingly at ease, as if he had done this thousand times before with Ron.

Now they were crossing a small square near the local park, mindless of the many others hanging about. The youngest were engaged in a wild game of tag, nearly barreling straight into Ron while doing so, some adolescents were trying to perform some tricks with their skateboards or rollerblades on the small, rickety ramps or the grind-bar, and others were playing ball-games. If they hadn't been so caught up in their conversation, the two young men might have spotted a familiar tall, blonde haired aristocrat playing basket with some friends over at the hoops in the sheltering shadows of the trees.

"It isn't a pizza restaurant, really," Ron was saying, as he nodded towards a low building at the other side of the cobblestone path that divided the park from the block. In a rather old-fashioned manner there was an battered wooding sign hanging from a rusty bracket over the door, which read in loopy letters _'Everlind's'_ ."It's more like a pub, I guess. They got the usual and little more, and surprisingly pizzas. Which are-"

"-the best." Harry finished for him, his right mouth corner quirking up in a grin.

"Exactly!" Ron gushed, coming into motion again, which made Harry wonder when they had stopped to stare dumbly at the façade of the small building. "Besides, it's quite a comfortable place. Most snobs don't come down here… I guess they find it far below-standard."

The bell hanging from the door jangled loudly as Ron stepped inside, pausing briefly with the knob in hand as his eyes searched out the rest of their company. Then he moved on, Harry trailing behind and getting a first impression of the pub. Though still light outside, small candles were perched in the middle of every table casting dancing shadows over the wooden surfaces. The place was slightly crowded, as it was around dinner time, mostly by the younger population in town. But Ron had been right; it was not the kind Harry disliked to deal with. It seemed that Everlind's was that kind of place where you're just allowed to be without question. The interior was simple, yet gave an impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness. Another thing that was slightly surprising but nevertheless positive was the mixed variety of different cultures in the interior, giving the place an ethnic look. Harry especially liked the large red Chinese lanterns dangling from the ceiling, giving the place a warm glow.

At a booth for six near the back they found the others, who were already nipping at various drinks and chatting easily. Finbar –as usually- was drinking fruit juice, while Dean and Hermione were enjoying a soda. Carefully squeezing themselves a way through tables and seats that were virtually crammed into the place, they made their way over to others, who were already looking up and smiling at them. Arriving there, they slid into the booth opposite of each other, Ron next to Hermione and Harry next to Finbar.

"Where's Mr. Irish and Nev?" asked Ron with a curious blink as he settled down and 'accidentally' touched Hermione' thigh.

"Seamus is broke. Again." Dean answered from over his soda with a deliberate pause, "And Neville's grandma doesn't find it appropriate for him to hang about at Everlind's during a school week."

"What's wrong with that?" Ron muttered rather indignantly, "The guy's gotta eat, doesn't he? What does it matter whether he eats here or at home? Damn tacky old woman."

"Don't say that Ron!" bristled Hermione heatedly, "As a matter a fact, you guys _do_ waste too much time here. You ought to better spend it- "

"-Studying?" came Finbar's casual comment from behind the menu he was poring over.

"Yes! No…eh…yes." Hermione hackled, having trouble deciding a dignified response without sounding too much of a complete bookworm.

"We don't even have homework yet." Said Dean whilst rolling his eyes, and then added in a rather sadistic tone, "Well, except for Harry, then. Which is exactly why we are here, celebrating of course!"

Harry let out a snort, "If you are talking about Snape and his bloody essay, then mourning would be the term I'd chose to describe my euphoria." He said in a completely monotone way as he leaned heavily on his fist which was supporting his chin.

"Good evening lads," Addressed a pleasant female voice, interrupting their chat, "Back so soon?" The young adults looked up to see a middle-aged woman with loose blond curls and generous curves holding a notebook and a pen.

"Hello Madam Rosmerta," Hermione greeted her politely yet with a rather cold edge to it. Harry figured it had something to do about the way how Ron got a bit red in the face upon seeing her.

"We're growing men, Madam," Said Dean, grinning widely, "Got to eat if we want to stay in shape."

"I'm sure you do," Madam Rosmerta said with a dazzling smile on her pretty face, causing Hermione's frown to deepen and Ron's blush to spread even further. "So, what can I get you?" She looked at Finbar first.

"The usual." Requested Finbar with his deep burr for a voice, "And a green tea, please."

"Double cheese this time," Dean spoke up, "And another Coke."

After taking Hermione's and Ron's order she looked expectantly at Harry, apparently knowing Ron's circle of friends so well that she could tell he was the newest addition. Looking at his hands awkwardly, Harry ordered a pepperoni pizza.

Having it jotted down rapidly, Rosmerta departed with a sway of her hips and a promise to return with their drinks soon.

"Say Harry," Dean spoke, his tone implying an upcoming question, "Hope you don't mind me asking but how did you end up in a hole like Hogsmeade?"

Grateful for Dean's smooth start for a conversation, seeing as he had no idea of how to begin one without sounding like a moron, Harry answered, rather aware of all the eyes on him "Well, I lived with my Godfather, Sirius, in London, but the place was a little too big and too expensive for just the two of us. We'd been looking for something quite a while, with no success, until Remus, or rather professor Lupin as you'll know him, told us about a available flat in his building. And that's how." Harry finished, somewhat lamely.

It was not that Sirius and he were having serious financial problems, but living in a house that was too big to be manageable, while they could do with much less was just downright a waste. Harry more specifically, did not even have to begin to worry about a shortage of finance. The small fortune he had inherited was enough to settle down later royally without having to work his butt off to make ends meet. Though he had suggested sharing his part in the monthly costs, Sirius had stubbornly refused, saying that other youngsters didn't need to pay their parents a monthly fee while still studying. In a way, Harry reflected, he had a point, but to compensate, he never asked for money. As it was, this eating out was entirely paid for from the money he had earned with a summer's job. It just didn't feel right to squander the inherited money on trivial things. So he just tried to earn some of his own with small jobs and chores he used to do around the neighborhood. This didn't exclude that he might occasionally swap a small amount over to his personal account.

"Godfather?" Hermione implored with questioning eyebrows.

Harry glanced at her sharply, knowing what she wanted to hear. "They died in a car accident." He said simply, looking at her steadily from behind his thick, shaggy fringe.

She did not look away, instead locking eyes with him. There was a terse silence for a moment, the others holding their breath and sitting rigidly as they looked from one to the other in anxiously. Hermione's eyes were soft and warm, and yet somehow strong and unyielding. "I'm sorry." She said quietly, her eyes not even faltering their gaze as she did so.

And she meant it, Harry knew. "It's alright." He said in an equally soft tone, letting his lips bend into a warm smile.

Even though it might have been an odd moment to do so, Harry felt like they had just wordlessly welcomed each other into their respective lives. There just was something about the way Hermione was who she was that made Harry intrigued. She sat there, at the opposite side of the table, a small and lithe-build young woman with the most amazing amount of bushy brown hair he'd ever seen. Her face was pixie-like, her eyes a warm and intelligent brown. One would think that a girl with a physique like Hermione's would appear vulnerable and in need of protection, but that couldn't have been less true. The young woman had a whole aura of fierce independency and inner strength about her that could make even the most beautiful woman envy her. It was a quality that Harry very much valued in another person.

"Bet that's where the scar comes from, too." said Finbar from his right, startling Harry out of his observations of the only female member of their current company.

"How'd you guess?" he asked in wonder. After all, a scar like that seemed rather unusual to get from a car accident. One would estimate the damage from an accident that had claimed the lives of two people to be more severe.

"The way you unconsciously try not to draw any attention to it and the very way you look pained when you are reminded of it, or when someone happens to look at it. One would think you'd rather forget about the scar or are embarrassed about it, but you aren't. You carry it like it is a bitter reminder but a necessary one. You would only want for it to be gone if that meant that you could have back that what you lost by getting it." The young man said, his striking light blue eyes regarding him intensely through the locks of his dark black hair that tumbled wildly around his face to finally end well over his shoulders.

"Don't be such a freak, Wolfman. That's just scary." Ron said tensely, watching Finbar in a slightly uncomfortable way.

"Anyone could have known it if you'd just tried to _see_," the other said simply.

"Nobody ever notices things like that and are always _right_ about them." Dean remarked, his dark eyes holding Finbar's in a watchful manner.

Finbar's lips flickered into a brief, enigmatic smile and he was just about to open his mouth to offer a comment to Dean's last remark when the bell on the door jangled noisily again. A quartet of young people had staggered in, two of them talking loudly, obviously still needling the other, more silent, two of their company.

"Not _them_…" Ron groaned desperately from his place opposite of Harry, slinking so low down on his bench that his eyes were only just peering over the tabletop, gangly legs sprawled carelessly under the table.

The small group that had just entered, was led by Alex who was wounding her way between the labyrinths formed by the many unstable, wooden tables, her preternatural eyes a lambent green in the dimmed light of the small diner. She was carrying a rucksack that seemed to be bulbous with some ball-shaped object, which was probably exactly what it was, considering their loose, sportive outfits.

Following closely behind was an aloof looking brown haired youth, one that could be found often in the company of Malfoy at school. Harry couldn't remember the guy's name to save his life, but what he _did _notice was the profound change in attire; the designer clothes exchanged for loose training shorts and an over-sized bright orange t-shirt and his brown locks disarray.

Draco Malfoy came next, craning his head over his friend's shoulder, slate eyes searching for an unoccupied table. His light blond hair and fair skin were a stark contrast against the faithful black colored t-shirt he was wearing.

Bringing up the rear was a young man Harry couldn't remember ever seeing at school, which wouldn't be that odd if you considered that he appeared to be somewhere in his mid-twenties. At first sight he looked like the average guy, quite good looking though, but not somebody Harry would have remembered if it wasn't for the long, jagged scar on his right cheek.

As if on cue, Harry having finished his extensive observations of the newcomers, Malfoy's face tensed noticeably when he caught the raven haired youth looking at him. And that expression transformed into a full-fledged sneer when his sharp gaze found Ron as well.

Draco felt his good mood frost over considerably when his eyes were drawn to a disturbingly familiar red spot which he quickly confirmed belonged to that person he loathed the most: Weasley. A venomous curse left his lips under his breath and he locked eyes with Weasel, doing so purposely, both sending horrible glares at each other over the sea of tables separating them.

Having graced Weasel with his most foul look, Draco grabbed the back of Alex's collar roughly, announcing; "We're leaving." And he turned around to do just that.

With a swift whirl of her head, beads and bangles clinking, Alex in turn clamped her hand around his wrist, grinding him to a halt, "No pizza? What? Why?" she demanded rather breathlessly, not willing to leave the building without her well-earned dinner unless aliens were taking over the world and exterminating the human race in the progress.

Jutting out his chin once in Weasley's direction, as if it explained everything, Draco tried wrenching his limb free of the dread head's tight grasp. His high spirits were most definitely ruined for the rest of his evening, possibly the rest of the week, too. Over summer, the two arch-nemeses had wordlessly set a schedule for who being at Everlind's when. It had been a perfect solution; every other day Weasley or he came over here, not risking running into the other while doing so. Of course that did not mean that the rest of respective friends obeyed that ridiculous rule. Nevertheless, it kept the two of them out of constant conflict. But now, as school had started again, the arrangement had become unfit and useless. Or so Draco had thought.

Alex crossed her arms over her shapely chest and attempted to try and stare him down - which proved to be rather futile since she was about a foot shorter than he was. To her defense, though, Draco had to admit that said disadvantage didn't quench her efforts the least bit. For a little lady like that, she sure was a menace. "Grow up." She said indignantly, flicking Ron a wry look "I'm not leaving."

"Yes you are!" he breathed into her face, his gray eyes leering at her from behind some locks of blond hair, "It is bad enough that I have to share the same air with those idiots five days a week, so I'm not bloody well sharing the same room with them now!" His voice had almost boiled up to a scream at the end of the sentence and he had generously sprayed some flecks of spittle on Alex's frowning face while doing so.

She blinked at him for a moment, the back of her left hand coming up to rub the side of her face clean absently. Taking a step backwards, she arched a white brow defiantly. And then she sat promptly down on the floor. "I want pizza," she stated, "and I'm not leaving before I've eaten."

Draco ground his teeth together, his ire reaching dangerous heights, "Get up Alex," he hissed doing his utter best to remain calm and appear fashionably indifferent, "I'm not in the mood for this."

Meanwhile Blaise stood watching them impassively, tossing his keys idly in one hand as he did so, Gloves standing by his side, towering over him by a good three inches, eying the argument only half-interested.

The blonde came to stand right in front of her, his impressive height casting a threatening shadow over Alex's small, sitting form. Then he said in his most deathly and commanding tone; "Up. _Now_."

Obviously not intimidated, Alex continued to smile blandly at him, batting her eyelashes as she suddenly became very interested in the back of her hand.

"Fine," Draco suddenly agreed his jaw setting as he bent over. A subtly muscled arm coiled around her waist, raised her of the ground -causing Alex to let an out a startled shout- and then he slung her simply over his shoulder –again, Alex huffing a breathless _'Oof'_-, all in one motion. Balancing himself for a moment with the additional weight of the girl in his neck, Draco ignored her waspish protests. With a nod he then beckoned Blaise and Gloves to follow and waltzed out of the restaurant, Alex shouting and wriggling on his shoulder in the progress.

With a slight shake of his head, Blaise watched the pair leaving the deli, the young woman on his best friend's shoulder pounding Draco's lower back vengefully with balled fists. He registered Gloves slip past him on his right, following the duo outside, probably wanting to prevent them from having a go at each other's throat. Deciding he better should do the same, Blaise willed his tired body to come into motion, but not before turning to where his cousin sat. He raised his hand in a silent farewell, the gesture firstly gaining a lot of confused looks from the red head and his friends. In response, his cousin grinned back, his blue eyes as clear as the sky.

Blaise was quite sure that Weasley and his friends didn't always fully realize that Finbar and his younger brother Darragh Ganad where his cousins. That probably being because Finbar and he did not quite interact regularly at school. They shared rather few classes together and in those they did have, Blaise was always more occupied with his own circle of friends while Finbar was doing the same with his. However, though none would have guessed by the reserved way in which they treated one other at school, the two cousins could actually really appreciate the other's presence.

The bond was stronger between Finbar and him than it was considering his other, younger cousin, Darragh. Though that did not mean he liked kid less, it was just different. Reflecting on it, Blaise figured it was probably because Finbar, being nineteen and thus two years older than him, was more mature and more specifically wiser in a way. Finbar had the admirable threat that he accepted people for who they were, no matter what the rest of his friends thought about it. He formed his opinions in an understanding yet neutral way, willing to see things from another's perspective. And when the result clashed with his own moral values, he'd just let the person be, wanting nothing more than just that. He was, unlike Draco, able to acknowledge _and respect_ the sometimes grating differences between others and himself. And, Blaise added mentally, his cousin was just great company with his own brand of dry humor. Though to see that carefree side of the black haired man, you had to get him to be completely relaxed and at ease in your company. Probably because though he could accept people for who they were, his neutral observer and advisor position also made him realize how cruel people could be.

Traipsing behind after his three other friends, able to do so blindly plainly because of just following the noise, his mind continued to mull over his relationship with his older cousin until he almost ran into Gloves' hard back. All remaining musings were rammed rather savagely out of his head when Alex's raging tirade echoed through the streets.

Draco had trekked through Hogsmeade and away from Everlind's, with Alex on his shoulder, until they had been a good six blocks further. Only there he finally risked it to drop her unceremoniously back to her feet. At which she promptly unleashed the rather impressive capacity of her vocal cords on him. The sheer volume of the racket she was making alone made some of the local inhabitants open up their windows, checking out in a bewildered fashion the tiny woman seething at her companion.

Meanwhile Draco Malfoy let the words spill over him in a distant fashion, secretly enjoying how a vague Irish accent came through in her ire. Normally his friend spoke, like the rest of his friends and himself included, with a British tongue. In which, by the way, Draco just adored the way she always said' fuck' or 'fucking' instead of 'bloody'. At times like these, though, you could perceive that she wasn't a local, though it would probably always remain a mystery as from where she got the Irish hint.

He waited for her to finish, increasingly getting more bored with the whole scene, though he knew that she was rightfully so giving him a piece of her mind. Draco really enjoyed watching her, no matter what emotion Alex was directing at him. In his opinion, she was a piece of art. If only he could really… really…well; it didn't matter, but it sure would have made things easier.

Suddenly Alex's tiny fist connected rather painfully with his shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie. Her street-fighting skills would guarantee that the punch would leave a nasty and colorful bruise on his skin. "Say something!" she growled.

Still rubbing his shoulder, wincing each time his hand passed over the already blooming purple swelling, Draco glared at her from between narrowed eyelids. "Brat," he muttered half-heartedly.

For a moment it seemed that she was seriously considering kicking him in the nuts, and Draco felt the urge to flee her presence and immigrate somewhere safe. Japan maybe. But then she steeled her jaw and breathed through clenched teeth until she somewhat calmed down. Instead she settled on casting a longing gaze in the direction of the pub, the promise of the enjoyable luxury of eating pizza now nothing more but a fleeting memory. Unconsciously a hand lifted to cover her protesting stomach, trying to soothe the hollow pain.

Seeing that, Draco immediately frowned. Not in an annoyed fashion, but in a distinctly worried and even more so guilty one; realizing that he had gone ahead only thinking about himself again. It gave Draco the nagging feeling that he should somehow apologize. Zabini of course wasn't the problem, Gloves wouldn't be happy about it, but could manage, but his behavior was mostly unfair towards Alex. The times when she got to eat something like pizza or something in that category were very sparse. The expression in her eyes alone told Draco how hungry she must have been. "Right, you can stop looking like that," the blonde said on a deep sigh, "I will treat you guys to some Chinese, okay?"

The dazzling smile Alex gave him was more than enough of a reward to him, added with the knowledge that she'd forgiven him instantly. If there was anything that the young woman enjoyed more than Everlind's' pizzas, it was Oriental food.

--

Back at the little pub, Ron and his friends were conversing mainly about their newest companion, Harry, who, Ron noticed, seemed to dislike being put on the spot. He fruitlessly tried to manipulate the conversation so that it wouldn't directly focus on him, but Ron was by far too interested in his new friend to let him get away so easily.

"So," Dean was saying, "tell us something about yourself. Habits, good or bad, interests, music taste, old girlfriends and favorite hobbies. Tell us all and more. We're all ears..." He intertwined his dark skinned fingers, leaned an equally dark colored chin upon them and watched Harry from over the table with genuine interest.

Fidgeting nervously on his bench, avoiding all the four pairs of eyes on him, Harry murmured softly, "There's not all that much to say about myself really…"

"Bollocks!" exclaimed Ron.

"Yeah, come on!" Dean urged again.

"Okay then," Harry said reluctantly, "Well, we moved here from London, my Godfather and I. And I…uh…" he hackled, no knowing what more he was supposed to say.

"You like sports?" Finbar asked, encouraging him to keep on talking.

"Yeah sure." He answered and at Finbar's inclination of his dark haired head, he specified, "I like basketball and tennis… actually I enjoy sports in general. Things that, you know, give you an adrenaline rush." He said and after an unsure pause he added somewhat wistfully, "Things that go fast and high. I really like that."

"Fast and high, eh?" Ron said, smiling as he tilted his head to the left.

Harry nodded, "Yeah, I did a parachute tandem jump once… that was really awesome."

"Wow," Ron whistled.

"Uh-huh, Sirius arranged it for my sixteenth birthday." A slight grin doodled itself across Harry's features.

"Sirius seems a great guy," Ron said honestly, "You must be glad to have him."

At that Harry somewhat hung his head, a clear indication that Ron had touched a nerve. When Dean opened his mouth wanting to ask something more, Finbar shook his head in a negative, indicating that it was better to leave it at that. None of the other three questioned the young man's judgment, and Hermione steered it towards a less dire topic.

"You like to read?" it was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. When Dean snickering wanted to say something about her obsession, Hermione kicked him rather sharply under the table.

Smiling at Dean high-pitched yelp, Harry said, "Depends on the author's writing style honestly, but tend to go for fantasy, suspense, or thrillers, but that can vary."

Hermione nodded and managed a weak smile, but obviously she had hoped for a partner to accompany her on her frequent visits to the local library for 'education of mind'. Then Dean's hand suddenly shot under the table and prodded her so unexpectedly in the ribs that Hermione jumped up, arms wheeling to provide some defense, and thus knocking her glass off the table. Ron could only watch how the glass swooshed by under his nose, making belatedly a grab to stop it.

In a breathtaking moment the company winced, anticipating the shrill shattering of glass on the hard ground as the fragile object teetered on the edge. But it never came. Instead, Harry had deftly caught the glass from the moment it had toppled over the table. He hadn't even spilled a drop when he placed the drink back in front of Hermione.

"Careful there," he said.

"Holy monkey shit, Harry, how did you do that?" Ron bellowed breathlessly, leaning over the table as he stared wide-eyed at his startled friend.

"I… caught it?" Harry tried slowly.

Even Finbar was looking at him with a completely fascinated gaze. "That's some reflexes you got, mate." He said, sounding awestruck.

"Oh that," Harry laughed. "I've always been fast," he shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm good at catching things."

As Harry said that, though it was in no way whatsoever meant to mean anything but just that, Finbar couldn't help himself, but an image of Draco Malfoy suddenly sprang before his inner eye. And this time _even he_ couldn't phantom why. As he sat there, demanding his emphatic streak why he had to think of Malfoy of all people, the conversation had jumped subject yet again.

Ron was leaning over the table, staring avidly at a very bothered looking Harry.

"C'moooon," he was coaxing, "What's her name?"

Obviously, they had been talking about girlfriends, something Harry seemed very reluctant to discuss. Again, before Finbar had actually had time to grasp the meaning of the premonition settling in the back of his mind he blurted out rather tactlessly, "You're gay."

It seemed that Silence had swooped and carried away any further conversation like a hawk's unsuspecting prey. Everybody was looking at Harry, but Harry wasn't looking at any of them. He was in a state of shock. Part of him really wanted to go ahead and say, because it was the truth, but the other half just wanted to take the secret with him to the grave.

"Are you, Harry?" Hermione asked in a businesslike manner, watching him calmly.

Harry just decided not to say anything, simply because he didn't quite know how to set about it. More so even because he had not wanted to tell them _so_ soon, but then again there just was no 'right moment' to tell your new friends something like that. There never was.

Finbar caught Ron's eye, giving him an intense look.

"Heh, okay then," the red head stuttered out clumsily, not having expected this development at all, "What's _his_ name then?"

Harry opened his mouth, the right corner of it tugging up, but then he just shook his head. Had he not been too embarrassed to look back at the trio sitting opposite of him, he might have noticed that there was nothing but curiosity in their eyes.

"It doesn't bother us, Harry." Hermione said in a soft voice, her small hand gliding over the table to cover his, "its okay."

Head still inclined down, Harry's eyes darted up to gaze at Hermione from behind the curtain of uneven, messy, ebony bangs that fell in his face. There was a hint of a somewhat forlorn emotion in the swirling depths of his green eyes, and Hermione tightened her hold on his hand.

Ron was scratching the back of his head absently, furiously groping around in his numbed brain for a comment that would lighten the glum look on his friend's face. "Oh, bloody hell, I'm not good at this…" he muttered, trying to lock eyes with Harry, "As Hermione says, mate, its okay. Right guys?" He said, almost glaring at Dean and Finbar.

The latter was leaning comfortably back on his bench and he arched such an incredulous eyebrow at Ron that he ended up feeling quite stupid to ask Finbar that question in the first place. That just left Dean, and the Afro-American gave a one-shoulder shrug that simply meant that it had never bothered him in the first place, and neither did it bother him now, with Harry.

"See, mate?" Ron concluded, "No worries."

The raven haired youth still hadn't answered, and didn't seem as if he were about to do so anytime soon, which was Ron's cue to change the subject again, "By the way Wolfman, _stop_ doing that."

Finbar shrugged somewhat apologetically, "I really can't help it, but I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable Harry. I just knew it before I did. Or something like that…" he trailed of, by now having confused himself. After all, he did know it, before he really did, but that on his own absolutely did not make any sense at all.

"It's alright." Harry said quietly, still feeling ill at ease, "Wolfman. Why do they call you that?"

Stroking his chin as if he were deep in thought, Finbar said in his deep voice, "I got a thing with werewolves, been collecting books with legends and myths about them for as long as I can remember."

"Like a hobby?" Harry implored.

Finbar licked his lips contemplatively, "More like some odd fascination, really. I can't even begin to tell you why in a brief explanation. My hobbies, rather, are snowboarding or kite-surfing and things like that. Though I've been snowboarding for quite some years now; I only do kite-surfing on my summer-vacations."

"Other things I might want to know?" Harry asked, his voice still slightly chopped.

Pursing his lips, Finbar thought about it for a second. "Well, Blaise Zabini is my cousin, though you won't notice much of that at school. And I got a fifteen going on sixteen year old brother named Darragh." And, as a final afterthought he added, "No girlfriend."

That particular last fact made Harry's eyebrows rise up in surprise, he had been quite damn sure that a gorgeous looking guy like Finbar would have had _at least_ five girls. Then on a more realistic note, Finbar seemed to be the kind of guy who was faithful to one girl and one girl only. And if he was not mistaken, Finbar also wasn't the type of guy to bother with any just girl, no, if he had to picture Finbar with someone, it was bound to be someone unique.

"And he's got a bloody wicked tattoo on his chest." Dean was saying with a grin.

Unconsciously, Finbar rubbed over the right side of his chest, the thin material of his shirt the only thing that hid the enormous black tribal pattern that virtually covered his whole right shoulder, pectoral, ribcage, collarbone and even trailed up to end at where his right jaw line curled up to his ear. Most people found the size of the tattoo simply outrageous, and he didn't find that so bizarre, after all, it was _huge_. Finbar shook his head, not wanting to slip of into introspect again and concentrated on Dean confiding Harry his interests.

"Well, I live for football, (Ron snorted 'understatement', but was pointedly ignored), and I study Art. I love to draw, really, but I'm more into cartoons and comic books, than into the whole as they say -he made air quotes with his middle and index fingers- 'professional art'. Such as painting and sculpting, though I think _my_ art is just as good, any art is, if only you believe in it."

"That being the reason why he's all buddy-buddy with the enemy," Ron said in a reproaching tone.

"The enemy?" Harry blinked.

"Alex Ladon, or known as the ass's bitch."

"RON!" Hermione hissed hotly, and even Finbar and Dean were looking at the red head in a less than friendly manner.

Ron had the decency to look at least mildly flustered, knowing that what he had said was uncalled for. Nevertheless he couldn't help but defend his point, "Well, she _is _Malfoy's girlfriend."

"You _know _that Alex is different. More so, what has she ever done to get that kind of disrespect?" Hermione was lecturing him, a surprisingly dark frown on her face.

Harry immediately sensed that she had a strong sense of rightness and that she was not about to let even someone as close as her own boyfriend elude her wielding of it.

"You_ really_ are on bad terms with Malfoy, aren't you?" Harry noted.

Almost grounding his teeth together, Ron muttered, "Yeah, it goes way back. It actually kinda started with our parents. Not that I can blame dad for being all suspicious of Malfoy's old man and all."

After having seen how Malfoy Junior turned out to be, Harry couldn't help but agree with Ron. Hermione, though, was rolling her eyes at his utterance while Finbar was just arching his brows with indiscernible look on his features.

Braking the silence, Dean continued, slightly piqued at Ron's insistent need of declaring just how much he loathed Malfoy, "Anyway, you know Seamus, don't you Harry? Well, he's been my best friend for as long as I can remember. We always go on survival camp together in the summer, which was totally cool this year, by the way." He took a nip from his drink and added with a rather wide grin, "And I would do anything to date one of the Patil twins."

Ron sniggered at his last comment, only succeeding in Hermione elbowing him rather roughly in the ribs.

Then the bushy haired girl continued in a dignified, airy tone, "Well, I used to study Literature, like you, but I switched this year to Journalism. I like to play tennis, badminton, read, and watch documentaries on the telly."

Leaning close to Harry, but purposefully not subtly, Finbar whispered in his ear, "She _says _documentaries, but _means_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

Harry tried to hide his grin by taking a sip from his drink while Hermione tried to stamp on Finbar's foot under the table.

"And!" she breathed, her jaw set determinately as she continued attempting to get back at Finbar, "I have a large-" there was a painful sounding stomp under the table and Dean cursed, "-ginger cat called Crookshanks."

With a wide smile on his face, Harry thoroughly enjoyed his evening. Though maybe the taking turns in telling something about themselves might have been somewhat strained, after it, when food arrived and spirits rose, there was a lot of laughing and poking fun at each other. Of course, it happened more than once that he was not able to follow the threat of the conversation, or the catch with some jokes, and he ended up somewhere out of the loop, but he found out he didn't mind that much. After all, it was somewhat normal. Still, he would gladly be part of it. What he did discover though was that Ron was absolutely terrified of spiders. At a certain point in the evening, a small, very tiny spider –the kind you found in every housekeep- was crawling near the windowsill. From the moment Ron saw it, he had started shouting and cursing, jumping away from their table and knocking into some of the other costumers. Afterwards Ron had spend most of the time sulking, his ears almost as red as his hair.

Hours flew by, and before Harry realized it, his watch was showing that it was ten in the evening. he was quite startled to realize that he had spend a good three hours in the company of people who were as good as complete strangers to him and that he was actually disappointed for it to be over so soon. Reluctantly, still laughing and chatting, they bid the little pub farewell –but not for long- and made their way outside.

The warm sweltering heat, the last touches of summer, had been replaced for a chilly evening, with a clear, star-adored sky. He had wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to be somewhat warmer. The skin on his arms was in an itchy state of goose bumps and he rubbed at it idly. Now eager to get home and to warms beds, the five youngsters said goodbye to each other, smiling all the time. Ron and Harry were going back the same way the came, with them being almost neighbors.

"Take care of her, Wolfman," Ron tried to order his dark haired friend discreetly. He was relieved that Finbar had offered to walk her home; he disliked the thought of having her walk through certain parts of town at an hour this late. If Finbar hadn't offered to accompany her, he would have done so himself without thinking, but, seeing as Hermione was living quite an end from him, he would be late home by a small hour, and his mother was rather skilled with the art of whooping his sorry ass with a paste roll.

At this Finbar wrapped a strong arm around Hermione's slender shoulders, pulled her close and gave her a resounding kiss on the cheek, "It's my pleasure, really." He said, smirking suggestively.

Rolling his eyes, having known Finbar long enough not to be worried even the slightest bit, Ron ushered him away. Somewhat wearily, knowing that three pair of eyes were watching his every move now, he nervously rested a hand in the nape of Hermione's neck. Their eyes locked and he found himself leaning forward on own accord, touching his lips against Hermione's soft pink ones. For a moment their bodies almost aligned, and Ron felt the warmth of her body transferring to his. A shiver of delight shot up and down his spine and he let out a shivering sigh against her mouth. Slowly, not very willing, he pulled back.

At which Finbar and Dean promptly started to cheer and clap their hands.

"Will you two just knock that off," Ron ground out, ears shading scarlet again. They quieted, but didn't stop grinning broadly, mumbling under his breath at them, he turned back to her, "Goodnight, I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you." she whispered, a soft smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

Five minutes later Harry and Ron walked homewards together. Together they discussed different topics, but eventually ended up talking about their majors at school. Ron was rather curious as to why a guy like Harry –someone who shared quite a few hobbies and interests with himself- would go for a major like English & Literature. Not that there was anything wrong with that, not at all, but for a guy like Ron Weasley, who was majoring in Sports, it was somewhat out of the odd. Harry found that it was noticeable that his friends' field was Sports. Though tall and perhaps somewhat lanky, he did have nicely developed biceps and more particularly rather muscled calves. It appeared that Ron was quite fond of jogging, if his old and well-used trainers were anything to go by. Harry himself didn't mind going out for a jog every once and then, during vacation periods, even, he tried to go out everyday for a run.

As they talked quietly together, Harry found himself mulling over what had been said at _Everlind's _in the back of his mind. Though he had gotten through the whole evening fairly without any struggle, there was still one moment that particularly bothered him. _That_ moment. His voice came out a lot louder than he had intended to when he finally spoke up again; "Ron?"

The redhead looked at him. People might believe Ron Weasley was absolutely numb and perhaps even tactless when it came down to other people's feelings, but he sure did recognize the tone Harry spoke to him with as one that announced a personal matter which was probably important to the raven haired youth.

"Yeah?"

He kept his head down, looking at the round, somewhat plump tips of his skateboarding sneakers (though he could not board for the life of him; Harry just liked how comfortable they were). His heart was rattling nervously against his chest and his cheeks had heated up. "We're still friends?"

Ron's pace faltered and he looked at Harry in a distinctly puzzled fashion, "Huh?" What'd you ask that for? 'Course we are!"

"Well…" started Harry slowly, still not looking up, "After the whole 'which way does Harry swing' debate… I kinda… well, you know."

"As long as Harry doesn't swing my way, it's cool." Ron cut him off primly, slightly grinning.

Shaking his head amusedly at Ron's crudeness, he retorted, his voice taking on the attributes of a stereotypical gay male, "Nah-ah. I don't _think_ so; you're, like, _so totally_ not my type…"

For a moment Ron blinked at him, his mouth quirking upwards in a baffled yet very amused manner, before he let out a hearty laugh. He gave Harry an amiable clap on the back, "You're cool, mate," he said, "You're cool."

They came to a stop in front of Harry's apartment block building, which looked uninviting and foreboding at an hour like this. He looked up at Ron, arching a dark eyebrow, "You're quite alright yourself."

Ron lifted his hand, pretending to admire his nails. "What can I say? Charming, great sense of humor, brilliant, not to mention bloody gorgeous as well…" he drawled, running his fingers through his fiery short hair in what he imagined to be an ostentatious way.

"Sure, Ron, sure." Harry muttered sarcastically, but his huge grin betrayed him.

Snickering impishly, he gave Harry a wink, and turned on his heel, leaving for home.

Harry's eyes followed Ron's back, a thoughtful expression on his youthful face. Ron was just about to turn the corner when he called out, "And Ron…"

The redhead stopped in his track and peered over his shoulder.

"Thanks!"

Harry swore he could see Ron's bright grin in the darkening evening, greeting the raven head with a salute, before vanishing completely around the corner.

---

Title credits go to U2 – Beautiful Day.

This chapter has not yet been beta-ed!


	3. Forest of Cutting Shadows

**Disclaimer: **I do_ not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Chapter Three – Forest of Cutting Shadows**

"_Chocolate is not for girls." – Draco Malfoy_

Draco Malfoy felt as if his head was going to burst any moment. Past few days he had found himself caught up in several conflicts he'd rather not be involved with and even more than a few obsessive thoughts about some issues he'd better not be having. Needless to say, he was confused, more than a little cranky and rather tired. After throwing a glace at his watch, he decided that twenty minutes was quite enough to undertake a trip to the coffee machine. His next class was aesthetics, an optional course from which he had only one hour a week. Also, it happened to be one of the few he shared with both his friends Blaise and Alex. The only other advantage aside from the fact that he shared it with his mates was that the classroom was situated on the same floor as the coffee machine, which meant no stressing around to cover the distances between his two objectives in a time span this unfortunately short.

Hogwarts was a positively huge place, especially seeing as it offered such a wide variety of study fields; from Visual Arts to Science & Mathematics to English & Literature to Sports. And everything in-between. Occasionally Draco still found himself at loss as to where his classrooms were. More specifically now, in the beginning of the school-year, when he was still required to check his time-table frequently to figure out where exactly he had to go. What Hogwarts set apart was not only the strange, almost castle-like structure of the building and its many, _many_ floors, but it was also a pioneer in the educational department. Obviously, this kind of schooling system was one of a kind in the whole of Great Britain. But however chaotic it might appear, it was in fact, much more structuralized than most other schooling systems. Plus it allowed its students more liberty for personal development, having the opportunity to concentrate on that in which they were good and more importantly, that what interested them.

Two floors lower and painfully aching thighs later Draco finally found himself eye-to-eye with his beloved coffee-machine. Yes, he had been obliged to jog down two floors. And, yes, this was possible, especially considering that Hogwarts counted seven floors, with addition of a few more tower-like structures and had no elevators whatsoever. The visual arts studios were 'conveniently' located in those towers, which pretty much were attics of some sort, as well as some music classes. This basically meant that both Draco and Alex, the former majoring in Photography, the latter in Illustration, had to hike all the way up seven floors at least once a day.

The blonde zipped open his rucksack, blindly felt around in it for a moment and finally pulled out his personal mug of stainless steel. The tacky plastic cups that were stacked upon the machine served the purpose of being filled with the drink of choice, but they irked Draco out royally, hence why the mug was an item he always brought with him. As he held the cool object in one hand, his other slipped inside his pocket in search of some change. Plucking them out from between the denim fuzz and jeans stitches, he finally inserted them into the machine. A smile softened his lips when the machine spurred into work after inserting the coins and pressing the right button. Soon, the distinct smell of coffee entered his nostrils. Draco let out a contented sigh.

Just as he dipped his lips into the extra-strong and steaming coffee, Hermione Granger came walking briskly into the corridor, an unnecessarily heavy book bag dragging her shoulder down. She had to pass by him to get to the aesthetics classroom, which was further down the hallway. Though she slowed down somewhat upon crossing him, her pace did not falter. Draco sneered at her for the good measure and getting a troubled frown for a response made him feel considerably better. It always helped to vent his ire on someone else. Fortunately for Hermione, Draco was satisfied to leave it at that, having his coffee to soothe his frazzled nerves and jumbled thoughts. Not a moment had passed, or Blaise Zabini came predictably striding towards him, having had the same course as Granger now they both were in Journalism.

He came to halt next to Draco.

"Morning."

Draco glanced at him from over the rim of his mug, "Midday, almost." He said dully.

Having different schedules meant that they were not always able to see each other for quite a while into the day. After a few weeks though, when they had been able to figure out when they could cross paths between which courses, their encounters became more numerous.

"Whatever." Blaise muttered, and did as Draco had before; glancing at his watch, confirming he still had a good ten minutes and thus enough time for some tea. He did not, however, carry a mug around. Plastic cups sufficed just fine. After digging up some change the machine burred happily for a second time.

Not able to resist, Draco ruffled around in his rucksack again, looking for something that would make his coffee-break complete. Meanwhile he absently responded to what little Blaise had to tell him. As he was about to open the wrapper and break off a morsel, he noticed his dark-haired friend smirking at him.

"Chocolate is _not_ for girls." Draco interjected quickly as he saw Blaise opening his mouth to say something.

Blaise was watching him with a knowing smirk, but decided against saying anything. For as long as he had known Draco, he had been acquaintanced with the blonde's rather intense fondness for chocolate. Black chocolate nonetheless, which he loved to dip into his coffee and then suckle at the melting substance. Something Blaise was familiar with from his sister, who displayed this kind of behavior always once a month during a period when she completely unapproachable and particularly cranky.

He smirked again, which resulted in a vile scowl from Draco and –ignoring his friend- he straightened out the newspaper he had been carrying around. For a moment both of them stood together in comfortable silence, Blaise poring over the contents of his newspaper, nipping at his tea and Draco lowering his chocolate bar into his coffee before bringing it back up to his lips.

Not even having managed to get halfway through the first article, Blaise found himself distracted by a student walking past by closely. He recalled him being a certain Dean Thomas, not someone he was very familiar with, but only knew him through Alex. She and Thomas both were in Art. The fact that it was Thomas who has joined them in the hallway meant little to Blaise besides the knowledge that it meant that Alex was bound to be here, too, soon. Barely having finished that thought, said dreadlocked artist came ambling towards them.

Today her enormous mass of white dreadlocks was tied together in a bundle at the back of her head, having used two strings of her own hair to do just that. She was wearing a black sleeveless shirt that, for once, actually fitted her form with a cartoonish skull printed in white on it. As usual she wore faded denims, which had been accidentally torn at her left knee. They were rolled up and resting on thick woolen, black leg-warmers contrasting with the trusty red converse shoes she was wearing. Which, if Blaise remembered correctly, were shoes she had 'inherited' from his older sister, Datum. From out of her rucksack could be seen a long bright-red shawl trailing almost down to the floor.

"Hey, you guys," she greeted in her familiar raw voice. Right after she yawned widely.

"You sure look bright and shining." Draco commented, smiling slightly before he slipped the chocolate treat between his lips again.

"That bad?" she asked wryly.

Blaise nodded, his hazel eyes warm as she rested upon her frame. Though he was agreeing verbally in a way, he couldn't mentally progress anything about her that might even be remotely unattractive, but he didn't want to be all flirty and obvious about it.

While Blaise was occupied with Alex to his right, Draco was passing his time sneering haughtily at Weasley who was just about to make his way over to his little clique, faithful sports bag slung over one shoulder. While being one of the Sport-majors, he was hardly a jock, which was a good thing for Weasley. Other-wise Draco would have felt it to be his duty to absolutely ruin everything there was to ruin about the redhead life. Not that he did not have such urges every once and then as well, but he did quite a good job just leering and humiliating him.

He was just thinking up a good insult to start the day of with him when his gaze was inevitably drawn to a not so tall, but still long and lean figure of a raven haired student. Harry Potter's bed hair was a dark as ever and several stands dangled stubbornly in his face. Draco's eyes followed him closely, not blinking once as they followed the student's deliberate strides. He had noticed that Potter seemed keen on keeping low-profile, yet his manner of walking was far from submissive or skittish. It made him wonder how much it would take to get under his skin good. Yet for some reason, he did not feel the same urge as he had with Weasley to make him feel miserable. For now, he would just let him be, but, mind you, he would be watching his every move closely.

The clinking from many bracelets and the fluttering of many shawls indicated the arrival of the Aesthetics teacher, who was known by the name Trelawny. She seemed to drift between the gathered students to the door of her classroom, which she opened with a resounding clack. Remaining at the doorway, she surveyed the youngsters, who entered reluctantly, through her magnifying spectacles. Draco thought she looked like an insect.

Meanwhile Harry and Ron hurriedly took up a spot near the back of the class, the former looking guardedly from out the corner of his eye, still having the feeling that somebody had been watching him. Sinking down on the uncomfortable wooden chair with a creak, and dropping his book bag with a dull thud to the ground, he peered around expectantly. Just as he was shrugging of his black, plain leather jacket (something he had snagged earlier this morning from Sirius), he looked up casually, only to be confronted by a pair of eyes that seemed neither blue nor gray, watching him intently. Startled, he blinked. As he opened his eyes again, his observer had gone. Suspiciously he eyed Malfoy who was talking quietly to his girlfriend.

Then Ron elbowed him sharply.

"Ow, what?" he muttered, rubbing his ribcage through his dark blue t-shirt.

Ron frowned at him, "Man, you were gone far into that little world of yours."

Staring at him incomprehensively, Harry remained mute.

Rolling his eyes, Ron said, "Never mind. I just asked for a pen or something. I kinda forget mine."

Rummaging through one of the compartments of his bag, he dug up a couple of pens which were distinctly chewed upon. Quickly he decided that it was a habit he had to lay off, and handed Ron the one that looked most decent. The redhead didn't even do as much as blink at it.

"Could you all please take your seats?" the teacher, Mrs. Trelawny, asked in an ethereal voice.

Harry barely heard her, and apparently the rest of the class hadn't either. There were conversations being shouted over the crowd, gossiping, talking on cell-phones, throwing balls of paper, pushing, pulling, making out and some even sleeping.

Thorough the terrible racket, Draco was really starting to feel positively murderous. Behavior this immature when he was having a bad day was _not _something he could deal with. He pressed his eyes shut, trying to will the waves of noise away. Suddenly he shot forward and banged his fist hard on the desk, "SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP!" he bellowed.

Harry, who had -despite his resolution of not doing so again- been chewing his pen, nearly swallowed it.

Balancing the chair on its hind legs next to her boyfriend, Alex muttered under her breath, "Showoff," And continued doodling disinterestedly in her note-book.

The rest of the class stared at Draco in a shocked silence.

Pulling her shawls tight around her, looking rather disgruntled, Trelawny said, "Thank you Mr. Malfoy."

The blonde remained fashionably silent, having crossed his arms over his chest and his face apparently carved into stone.

'Well then," the teacher started shakily, "Now that we can finally begin, please open your books at page twenty-two; Impressionism."

About fifteen minutes later most of the class was struggling to keep a grip on their attention-span. Harry and Ron had since long given up and were playing hangman on the border of Harry's sheet of paper. Finbar, who was also sitting in the back of the class, exactly in the middle, was observing his fellow-peers. His keen sage blue eyes seemed lighter than ever through the thick strings of black hair. To finish their already startling color, the iris was surrounded by a border of deep azure blue. Most people, Finbar had found out, had distinct trouble with looking him straight in the eye.

Bored beyond any belief, he tried to catch one by one the gaze of his classmates.

Dean, who had been sitting next to him, was his first victim. The afro-American reacted apprehensively as to why his neighbor was staring at him. He mouthed a hasty 'what' and upon receiving no answer he quickly glued his eyes to the pages of his book. Which, Finbar duly noted, were still open on a passage six pages earlier than they should have been.

Next he caught the gaze of Ron, who momentarily had been staring at the blackboard before he had felt the pull of Finbar's eyes. The redhead's own blue eyes returned the favor almost calmly, and a good twenty seconds had to pass before he got bored. He shot Finbar a kind grin and then occupied himself with Harry's progress on their little game.

Ron never let him down, Finbar concluded inwardly with a smile.

Lavender Brown followed, and she batted her eyes in a confused fashion, apparently wondering what he wanted from her. She waved slowly at him, thinking that he had gone off staring into space by the sheer dullness of the lesson. When that did not work, she turned around uneasily.

Alerted by Lavender's waving maneuver, Hermione had looked over her shoulder sharply, annoyed that her concentration was disrupted. Finding Finbar's attention focused on something else than the lesson seemed like a troublesome fact to her and she nodded her head to the front of the class, indicating that that was where he should be looking. When that did not have the desired effect, she just looked him resolutely in the eye, before smiling softly. Then, startled that she herself had let her mind wander, Hermione snapped her head back to the teacher.

Finding the next person took him more than five minutes. Then he found a pair of green eyes that been straying in the direction of the open windows at the opposite side of the classroom. Harry, leaning heavily on his fist, remained looking out of the window dreamily for quite a while before he actually reacted to Finbar. When they locked eyes he felt as he were drawn into the unyielding strength of Harry's look, the color somehow extending beyond the boundaries of the simple human body and all the way into his soul. Somehow he didn't feel uncomfortable, he acknowledged the somewhat intimidating feeling of being met by someone with eyes like those, but knew he did not have to be weary of it. When Harry finally blinked, it felt for Finbar as if he had to come back from afar. The young man smiled uncertainly at Finbar, before answering Ron who apparently had asked a question.

For a moment, Finbar was unable to do anything else but breathe. Then he shook himself out of his reverie and veered his eyes to the left side of class. They were immediately met by the hazel colored orbs of his cousin. Both of them simultaneously smirked at one other, Blaise apparently somehow aware of what he had been up to. Wordlessly, he raised a brown eyebrow, stared at him for a second or three and then continued to follow the lesson.

Taking notice of the progress of the course, Finbar leafed to the page his book was supposed to be. Then with a few quick looks at Dean's sporadic and mostly meaningless notes, he re-constructed what must have been said and effortlessly scribbled his page full with what in short had a topic in the lesson that had any importance.

Having ended his note-taking, Finbar set back to completing his little cooked-up analyses of his classmates. The next individual rather triggered Finbar looking at her instead of she at him. When Finbar found the spellbinding green eyes of Alex Ladon rising up from her book up to meet his, a feeling he could not quite place came over him. The green was much different than that of Harry's; Alex's seemed to glow from within. He wondered whether it was a trick of his mind, but he swore he could see the green glow from her irises rebound on her freckled cheekbones and her expressive white eyebrows. Though they were mesmeric, those eyes, they were also distinctly eerie. She did not look away until Draco Malfoy ended their private staring contest brusquely.

Leaning in front of his girlfriend, he shot an acid glare at Finbar, one that demanded what he was up to. Calmly, if not somewhat amused, Finbar looked back. Draco's slanted brows were laced together in the genesis of one of the most venomous frowns that Finbar ever had the pleasure to come across. Still, even though mostly unfathomable, the empath could detect a trace of emotions in those swirling slate surfaces, the kind of those one would not associate with Malfoy. When the blonde, upon not getting the desired effect, looked away, Finbar had the curious feeling of disappointment. Because he did not know Draco Malfoy as well as he might have liked. Especially now he knew that they only got to see a small glimpse of the real person. Sadly enough that was the most spiteful aspect of the whole spectrum that made up this enigmatic youth.

He was whisked out of his reverie by the shaking voice of his aesthetics teacher.

"Are you feeling well, dear boy?" she asked Harry, her eyes appearing enormous through the lenses.

Harry, who had somewhat trying to lean back as far as possible answered with a puzzled expression on his face, "Yeah, sure, why wouldn't I be?"

"You look as if you carry a heavy burden," Trelawny said with an ominous glow to her voice, "Perhaps you should wish for someone who you can talk to."

"I'm fine really," Harry said more clearly now and obviously positive that the woman was going bonkers, "I was just listening to what you were saying… about those…" slight pause, "people," hesitation, "who painted."

To his right, Ron muffled his laughter behind his book which he was holding, no less, up-side-down.

"Denial is a worrisome phase, yet however inevitable." She said in grave tones, watching Harry in an almost mournful manner.

Harry stared at her, baffled, for almost half a minute. Then he said slowly, quite unsure whether it was appropriate to start laughing, "If you say so."

Luckily for him, she left it at that and with a swirl and flicker of all the ornaments she wore; she glided back to the front of the class. Behind her back, Ron spluttered out in choked laughter, and Hermione and Harry shrugged at one other.

--

"Make your legs long; you've got to relax them," Alex shouted from somewhere to his right, "You can't _feel_ him if you're so uptight. Relax!" He tried hard not to think about in an ambiguous way, but failed in his earnest attempts and ended up snickering anyway.

The young woman in question didn't even bother anymore to actually make an effort and look at him reproachfully. She just quietly left Blaise to entertain himself by interpreting her instructions in a typically adolescent way.

The sun was warm on their backs and would have been uncomfortably so if it hadn't been for the soft evening breeze providing some welcome cooling. They were making the most out of it, basking in the slowly setting sun after a frustrating day of school. Their location was somewhere near the outskirts of Hogsmeade, close to the forests and yet not too far away from the centre of town. Not that Hogsmeade was that big to begin with. Seated between the leisurely swaying grasses, closely next to each other, were Alex Ladon and Blaise Zabini, from which the latter was lying on his back.

He had left the cotton button shirt open, enjoying the feel of the sun warming his torso. This favorable weather wouldn't last much longer, he knew. Soon it would start raining again, with an ever present chill stalking them wherever they would go. The wildflowers that dotted the seemingly endless rolling hills invaded his senses each time he inhaled deeply, the spicy scented wildness only adding to his already peaceful inner spirit. His arms were crossed under his head, and the whip-like long grass that was pressed against his skin was just about the only constant nuisance he had to endure.

"Make your legs long, relax, straight back, don't let him stray, … How the bloody hell am I supposed to make him do that all at the same time?" Came a breathless hoarse tenor from a distance away.

Again, Blaise chuckled.

"You're the one who's supposed to do that!" Alex called out, peering out over the long greenery.

Due to the cross legged position in which she was seated, her bent knee was quite close to Blaise's face. One unexpected movement and he might just have to conclude this day with a black eye. At the moment though, there wasn't much that could faze Blaise Zabini. But when suddenly soft fingers brushed away some stray locks of wavy brown hair, he blinked blearily, having to squint against the sun's flare. Alex leaned more over, casting a shadow over his slightly sun-flushed face.

"You comfortable there?" asked Alex, a soft smile gracing her lips as she looked down on him.

"Quite," was his answer, voice slightly hoarse from having not spoken for the bigger part of an hour.

The mad mass of dreadlocks was hanging heavily over her shoulders, though a large portion of it was bound together with a black band. Again, Alex reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and then she turned her attention back to a struggling Draco.

Silence lapsed between them again, and Alex's kind gestures had gotten Blaise thinking again. He really liked Alex, perhaps more than in a completely platonic way. It was hard not to, he reflected. From the moment Draco had introduced her to him a good two years ago, there had been an instant fascination towards the enigmatic young woman.   
There were other girls which most guys would prefer over someone like Alex Ladon. There were girls, like Pansy Parkinson who had long, smooth legs, thin figures and beautiful hands with nicely trimmed nails. Girls who had shining long hair which could be flicked over a shoulder to reveal a smooth pale neck. Young women, who had a flawless skin, smooth as silk, cherry-pink lips and long, black, seductive eyelashes.

Alex was nothing like that. First of all, she didn't have the kind of hair most guys appreciated. Though that was entirely ridiculous; for all those people out there who still thought that dreadlocks meant dirty, unkept tangles; they were wrong. Sporting over ninety tresses –they had counted them once- Alex was the perfect example of a person with clean, smooth and surprisingly nice to touch dreadlocks. The ends were rounded, there was no stray frizzy hair, nothing, just uneven wild locks that reached all the way past her elbows. Secondly, Alex's skin was scarred here and there, pierced, tattooed and freckled. Also, she wasn't a thin one, but rather wiry and slight of built, with a generously curved chest and seductive hips. Her stomach was as flat as a board, trained from all the physical activities she did. Instead of a sweet lilt, her voice was slightly raw, as if she'd just spend an hour yelling uncontrollably. Perhaps, those were a few reasons why guys were probably intimidated by her. They watched her alright, with lustful eyes, but they didn't dare to make a move. And if it wasn't so by her appearance, than it was definitely by her temperament.

Excluding the continuous buzz of the insects hovering through the air, there wasn't a sound. In most situations such a long period of stillness would have unnerved Blaise, but not with Alex as his companion. She was just this someone with whom you could sit down with in comfortable silence and not have to worry about who was going to fill that uneasy stretch of time. This suited him just fine, because he loathed mindless chit-chat just for the sake of having to talk.

"Tilt your pelvis, try to make gyrating motions if you can't follow his lead!"

At that exclamation Blaise couldn't help himself but splutter out in sniggers, hoisting himself up on one elbow and turning around so that he could look in Draco's direction.

"You make it sound like I'm supposed to hump him or something!" the blonde exclaimed, but was grinning rather dumbly himself. Yet that little distraction was more than enough to knock him out of balance again, ending with Draco hobbling quite uncomfortably up and down. "Sure doesn't feel to me like a good fuck…" he grumbled, wincing over and over again.

"Is sex all you guys can think about?" Alex muttered tonelessly, before adding, "Relax Draco, you're making him uncomfortable!"

Obviously the blonde wasn't very concerned with the current physical discomfort of the horse he was riding. More so he was doing his very best to fall back into the rhythm of the canter, but having quite a hard time doing so without the aid of a saddle or even as less as the reins. The whole ordeal might have been rather clumsy, but Blaise found the whole scenery the epitome of something like a legendary movie moment. Now that he had rolled over onto his stomach and was leaning down on his elbows, he could see how Draco was actually really trying his best to work in harmony with his horse. The pure green grass stems which were obscuring his view at some parts, swayed lazily from left to right, stirred by a gentle touch of the wind. The day was coming to an end; the sun was traveling down from its arc on the firmament, painting it with warm shades of orange and red with an occasional purple bruise to complete it.

The horse Draco was riding was not his, but Blaise's. Or rather, one of the many the Zabinis owned. Rumor was his name, adding only more to the enigma of the noble creature. It was a Swedish Warmblood with a stud-book that went back at least six generations. Chocolate brown fur, big intelligent eyes and a slender yet powerful body made up this magnificent stallion, the Zabinis' pride.

Draco himself, being of aristocratic blood and a descendant of the respected Malfoy name, had, naturally, been obliged to learn how to horse ride, more particularly dressage. Being a young boy back then, Draco had absolutely hated it, finding it a girl's sports. In the opinion of a twelve year old teenager, horses smelled, it was girly, the outfit was just plain stupid and it was a boring thing to do.

But now Alex had completely altered his old way of thinking about the matter, just as she had done with just about everything else Draco had believed back then. At first she had been hired as a stable help and groom, earning a precious little more each month to make ends meet. But, Blaise being who he was and having a name to live up to, had been taking riding lessons around the time she started there. Working hard and never complaining was rewarded with respect from his parents and the additional pleasantry that she was allowed to actually ride herself with no additional costs. But, they had noticed with quite a shock, she didn't prefer riding like they were accustomed to, no, Alex did it completely bareback. And this had not fallen into disfavor, but had ignited a blooming interest among the Zabini household. Almost a year later Blaise was able to ride 'naturally' just like she was and now, after watching several sessions, Draco had decided to give it a go himself.

"That's better!" Alex announced with a touch of pride. "That's what I wanted to see, good job. Now take him into gallop."

Watchful dark hazel eyes witnessed how Draco barely seemed to do anything at all, and yet somehow had managed to transfer the signal for a slow gallop to his stallion. The perky canter fluidly molted into a long pass gallop, the equine's legs carrying it seemingly weightlessly over the terrain. The blonde's hands, which had previously been clasped together on his back, now automatically moved to wound into the fluttering mane of his equine. He didn't need to hold on to keep himself from falling, but this way he was able to move along smoothly in the rolling motion of the three-beat gait.

There certainly was a lot more to Draco Malfoy than what met the eye, if he was able to connect with such a magnificent noble creature on a whole other level. Blaise had a fair idea about who the_ real_ Draco Malfoy just was. It had taken him a long time, but in the end Draco had finally decided him to be trustworthy. They'd been acquaintances for as long as he could remember really, first of all with them both being from highly respected aristocratic families and secondly with their fathers working together frequently on joined projects. His friend had transferred to Hogwarts three years ago, but Blaise could recall the memory as if it had been yesterday.

There had been a lot new students, but Draco was the one who'd make heads turn. Already then he had been handsome, even at an age so young, but that beauty had only seemed to reach skin deep. At first he had believed so, too, but had nonetheless made a subtle invitation to join him during recess. Their friendship had been initially quite hollow and Draco had established a rather two-faced companionship with Crabbe and Goyle, two thickset young males who just happened to be the sons of Lucius Malfoy's two own go alongs. A parallelism that just didn't seem like a coincidence at all to Blaise, though, Draco had never openly admitted that it had been an imposed obligation by his father.

He had been a thin, pale and seemingly rotten-spoiled youth with eyes that were as friendly as the cold steel edge of a knife, a volatile temper and blistering sharp tongue. Anyone he deemed 'unworthy', for whatever petty reasons, received the bad end of his personality, and honestly, that was just about anyone. It had appeared as if he loathed just about everybody and all he had wanted was to withdraw into himself. Instead he had exploited his status as the son of an important magnate and had steadily settled himself as a typical high school bully. Though he was still rather apt to talk out of his ass every now and then, the worst of this puberty crisis had passed. Mind you, this didn't mean that everybody didn't still back away when he strode proudly through the hallways. Younger pupils made sure to stay clear from him and even elder students avoided his presence, doing their best _not_ to draw his attention to them.

Nevertheless, things had started to change when Alex came into the picture. Almost four months into the school year, around Christmas, Draco and she had started dating. Just like that. Sure, though they seemed to be the most unlikely pair ever imaginable, they had always shared some sort of bond he had never quite understood. When the dreadlocked woman has started working as a stable help at their mansion, easily connecting with Blaise himself and thus causing the three of them to grow beyond being mere classmates. Within half a year Draco had told him about 'The Incident'. After that it had only took Alex a few weeks to successfully terrorize Crabbe and Goyle away which had allowed Draco to settle down and befriend Blaise in more than just a superficial manner.

Now, three years later, Blaise was confident enough to daresay he knew Draco Malfoy. Something he would never regret.

The sun sank completely behind the horizon, only to re-appear over the edge of the earth on a chilly Friday morning.

--

The first sun bathed day of the weekend, Saturday, witnessed Draco sauntering aimlessly through the streets, pondering the severity of his impending punishment. Ignoring the last dinner with his father before he went yet again on a business trip had been a more drastic rebelling action against his 'old man', and sneaking out while his mother had grounded him wasn't probably going to fall in forgiving grounds either. But then again, when wasn't he grounded? And more importantly, he just had to get out and do something, resulting in him traipsing across town to wherever his feet would take him. His mother, Narcissa, only punished him because it was customary for a mother to scold a disobedient son, not because she was angered with him.

Sullenly, he though about how close his father and he had been when he had been just a few years younger. Draco knew his father wasn't a bad man; Lucius Malfoy just wasn't a very open-minded person. Yet still, the words 'a disgrace to the Malfoy-name' rang between his ears, though it had been three years or so ago when his father had screamed that into his face. After that, obviously, the relationship with his father had sickened and nowadays it was safe to conclude that it had just withered and died altogether. Yet it still irritated Draco that he somehow missed it, and that he was saddened that his father only acknowledged him if he returned with his grades. Perhaps, he reasoned, that was why he defied his father so; just to get _any_ reaction out of him at all.

Waiting for the signal to change, Draco stood at the crosswalk, feeling his professional photo camera bouncing slightly against his hip, the weight oddly comforting around his neck. Photography was unmistakably yet another something that disappointed his father in him. Lucius had always wanted for his son to study Management, or an education akin to that, boosting him ready to take over his father's position in the family business when he graduated. Instead, Draco chose photography when he transferred to Hogwarts. A raging dispute between the two Malfoy males had ensued, with Draco locking himself up in his room afterwards, refusing all contact and nutrition until his father gave in with his mother's pleas.

Nevertheless, Draco _loved_ photography. It was probably one of the things he appreciated the most in his life. He found it wonderful to hear his camera's button clicking; knowing that whatever had caught his attention was imprinted on the picture for him to admire and wonder _why_ exactly he had photographed that. That was what fascinated him the most, if he was wandering around, camera in hand, he found that sometimes he was snapping the most unusual things. After the pictures had been developed, he could spend hours studying them, asking himself what had moved him to choose that particular shot.

Like that picture of the freckle on Alex's right cheek. He couldn't figure out why he had particularly photographed that, seeing as the dread-head's face was infested with freckles in all sizes and shapes. Or the one of Blaise Zabini's hands, which had been had been fidgeting with a small stub of charcoal, tinting the pads of his fingers black, or even a picture of a leaf lying on the sidewalk.

The blonde was sure though that he never would have appreciated photography if 'The Incident' had not occurred. That peculiar changing-point in his life had been for the best and for the worse all the same and even now he wasn't always as sure what he would choose if he could go back. Though, deep inside, he knew he wouldn't have wanted it different. This was just who he was, and it pissed him royally off that his father couldn't accept that.

He noted absentmindedly that is feet had carried him to the local park, filled with life at the moment. Still, the sounds were drowned out by the headphones cupping Draco's ears, the music humming into his body.

Yet another passion was music, but then again, it probably was to a degree every teen's interest. But not every teen could play the guitar _and_ sing like he did; as he was doing right now, under his breath, angling his camera at various scenes that captured his eye.

Snap. A picture of a patch of grass yielding to the current of a breeze.

Snap. Another one from a young boy poking with a stick in a puddle of mud.

Snap. Snap.

Bypassing people were giving him odd looks, wondering why the handsome young man was photographing the ground, standing in the middle of the sand road. Evidentially one dark glare was enough to make them cower away, leaving him to smirk at their retreating backs.

Peering at his surroundings, his keen eyes fastened from one thing on another in rapid succession. Capturing his tongue stud (which had done wonders on his father's blood pressure) between his lips, Draco took a few steps towards a little farm, crowded with packs of mothers and their young children, still keeping his distance as a neutral observer.

Just as he squatted down to snap a picture of a small girl chasing a chicken, something else, which he instinctively sensed, far more interesting passed by. Finally grateful for something actually worthy of his attention, Draco looked up from his lowered position, eyes finding a pair of men walking together wrapped up in an enthusiastic conversation.

One of them, definitely the eldest, had long black hair, gathered in a rubber band at the nape of his neck. He was wearing jeans and a plaid vest, very casual but somehow stylish. But it was the second person that made his stomach tingle. Amazing green eyes smiling behind the wire frames of glasses, with fringes of messy black hair that had a total wild yet charming effect, dangling over his forehead and an even tan coloring a perfect body was what made the index finger of his right hand twitch.

Taking a jog through the trees, his steps as soundless as that of a feline, he made a shortcut, allowing him to take a picture from a more interesting angle. The pair, as he had foreseen, came walking at a leisure pace towards him, not noticing the tall young man standing nearby, shielded by the threes.

Just as he angled his camera expectantly, Draco recognized the youth. He lowered the camera almost indignantly, pushing the headphones down around his neck. It was the new guy from his class; Harry Potter, and new best friend of Weasel.

--

Harry's weekend passed by rather uneventfully, he and Sirius were too busy trying to get the apartment habitable as soon as possible. His only short reprieve was when he'd met up with Hermione in the local library, since she had agreed upon helping him with his essay on The Philosopher's Stone, was thus confronted by her passionate thirst for knowledge, decided never again to trap himself in the company of Hermione Granger and a library or any other information source. They had not managed to finish it however and Harry would have to sweat over it himself some more. Their stopping by Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor after, had been quite pleasurable nonetheless, and Harry found himself hoping it happen more frequently in the near-future. That and trying to keep Nyoka out of Sirius's bed as the boa seemed to prefer his to Harry's, much to Sirius exasperation.

The rest of Draco's weekend was tedious to say at least. He was ill tempered, to his mother's despair, but other than Draco's raging tirades, at which she broke out in tears causing him to feel just a slight tad guilty, his weekend was mostly uneventful. He tried to make time pass quicker with videogames and movies, everything so he wouldn't have to be left alone with his subconscious, and eventually he picked up a book from Alex's which had been catching dust for over half a year. The climax to Sunday afternoon had been when he'd broken a valuable Ming vase, smashing it to the floor and than barging up to his room slamming doors in the progress. He refused to come down to eat that evening and snuck down at night instead to plunder the fridge. Then again, such was life at Malfoy Mansion.

---

Again Chapter title credit goes to Yasanori Mitsuda – Forest of Cutting Shadows (some theme song in the game Chrono Cross).

This chapter has not yet been beta-ed!


	4. Narcotic

**Disclaimer: **I do_ not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Chapter Four – Narcotic**

"_You were thinking about me. Not that I blame you." -Sirius Black_

The next morning found an appropriately disgruntled-looking Blaise leaning against the brick wall to the right of the school entrance. His long frame was shrouded in shadows, trying to avoid the sheets of fine drizzle that were swept over the small town and its inhabitants. With an aggravated movement, he rucked up the long sleeve of his dark blue turtleneck until he could cast a glare at his wristwatch. Quarter past eight, it told him in taunting digital black.

Draco Malfoy was unusually late, was Blaise's conclusion as he swept rain-soaked chocolate brown bangs from his forehead. His fair haired friend might like to deceive his fellow peers by acting like he was above any such rules and guidelines that were Hogwart's, but, Blaise knew, he actually _was_ quite concerned about his grades. Draco was a straight A student, as the saying goes, and though he liked treading the fine line between the teachers' patience and actual sanction, he always made sure he didn't actually receive a detention for his misbehavior.

Every now and then he _did_ manage to land his ass in detention, not that was such a horrible thing, but it did cause Malfoy senior to grind his teeth together for the indignity of his acts, which added a whole week of house arrest. And that was what Draco usually tried to avoid. However that it was quite apparent that he ended up in detention quite more often when his father was gone on business, and Draco was per consequence alone with his mother, Narcissa.

His watch gave a low-pitched beep, announcing the first bell signal to be within half a minute. With a set jaw, he slowly started to cover the few paces between the large doors and his meager shelter against the wall. As he cast one last look over his shoulder, the blurred silhouette of tall youth came hurrying towards him. Narrowing his hazel eyes, Blaise quickly recognized it to be his best friend.

Shoes made soppy noises as they speeded over the sandy walkway and finally skipped up the broad stone steps. Almost the young man ran straight into Blaise, who had been watching him idly, arms crossed over his chest.

"You're late." Blaise commented airily. As if on cue, the first bell signal rang. The second was to be within another two minutes, indicating that all students should be in their respective classes by then.

Slightly out of breath and blonde bangs plastered against his forehead and cheeks while the remainder hung limply around his sharply-chiseled face, Draco just glared at him. Cold drops of rain dribbled from the points of his wet tresses into the nape of his neck, and he shivered convulsively.

"Fuck you, Zabini." He sneered, but there was no real bite to it.

The other just smirked, "You wish." He snorted, for which he got a foul look from his friend. "Besides, however insane it might sound, that Mercedes, the one you got for your birthday, you _could_ actually_ use_ it."

Draco drew in a steadying breath, trying to crush the urge to lash out verbally at Blaise. It must have been apparent on his face because the left corner of Blaise's full lips tugged upward. That was one of the reasons that Draco thought so highly of him; the chocolate-haired youth was by no means intimidated by him. Grudgingly he replied, "You know why I don't."

Meanwhile they had stared walking side by side to their next class, one they had together. Draco's form-fitting black t-shirt was pasted to his torso like a second-skin, finely rippling with every movement. The barely visible hairs on his arms were standing on end, and there still was a wet sheen on his face.

"Because your father bought it for you." Blaise answered automatically, losing interest in the conversation rapidly, knowing that if he allowed his friend to vent his ire, he would have to listen to the same old tale again. "Forget I even asked."

Exactly as the torturous noise of the bell rattled for the second time that morning, Draco and Blaise walked nonchalantly into the class. Their History teacher, professor Binns, did not even do as much as spare them a look, though several other occupants of the room _did_. All females agreed that Draco Malfoy was a heartless bastard and a terrible arrogant and tactless one at that, but there was also some sort of collective awareness that he was undeniably handsome. And thusly, all female gazes clung to his every movement.

Somewhere, as per habit, in the back of the class, a certain green eyed youth was doing just that, too, from behind round glasses. Harry very much wanted to trust his pencil up Malfoy's nose, blaming not only himself, but also the blonde for making him feel attracted. How was it possible that even when he was positively soaked to the skin, Malfoy still managed to look as if he had just taken a refreshing shower and not just crawled out of a downpour? He always looked miserable when that happened, but apparently Malfoy just never failed to appear just perfect in his own way.

By no means did Draco have a body that could be categorized as brawny, and yet his lean frame was corded and sculpted with fine muscles that accentuated all that was needed to be. The tight shirt the nutcase was wearing was still damp enough to reveal how hard abs flattened his stomach, and revealed subtle pectorals making up his chest. Jeans that had greedily soaked up every drop of water outlined long, slender legs that were carrying him through the class with a graceful, yet purposeful stride.

Almost angrily, Harry diverted his gaze and stared stubbornly at the pages of his textbook. Seeing _him_ made Harry dejected. While the blonde's body seemed to have been molded by the hands of nature herself, his own seemed to be composed out of leftovers. Draco's body moved and shifted in a never-ending perfect harmony, speaking for him with even the slightest movement as a mere breath. His body, however, seemed too lanky (this obviously the reason why he preferred rather loose-fitting clothing), his knees to knobbly (which was why he made sure never to wear short pants), his hair too unruly (and trying to tame it simply proved to be a waste of time) and his face too narrow.

The two friends seated themselves at an unoccupied bench, Malfoy sniggering softly, while Zabini rolled his hazel eyes at him in a playful manner. Harry tried to ignore them, feeling glumly numb, Ron however made sure to eye them suspiciously.

Finally, their teacher made to start their lesson. It didn't take a good ten minutes for Harry to realize that History, given to them by Mr.Binns, was _not_ going to be his number one favorite course. It appeared that they were remarkable only for their utter dreariness. Through endless details of war past long Binns read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner, which put everyone into a stupor. Harry absently wondered how the man managed to make bloody battles and executions sound so dull.

The only person who seemed immune to dry, reedy, wheezy voice was Hermione. She was jotting down everything he said fiercely, brown bangs jumping around her face at the determined movements. Ron, in contrary, seemed to share Harry's sentiments and was snoring softly; arms folded over his textbook, and tousled red head pillowed upon them.

Twenty minutes later the door creaked open and the lambent green eyes of Alex Ladon peered through, before the head with a massive amount of white dreadlocks craned around it. Very quietly she tiptoed her way through the disarray benches, and Harry saw that she grinned at Finbar as she crossed him. Then she lowered herself on the empty spot next to Su Li, an oriental looking girl Harry did not know.

It was not until his English classes were over, and he was waiting in the first floor hallway, that Harry felt somewhat awake. Thankfully, his broody mood had somewhat passed, though the torrents of unexpected rain continued to pound mercilessly against the windows as if they were trying to reach out to the people behind the transparent surfaces. It seemed that not many students had been expecting such a sudden twist in the weather, compared to yesterday's sultry warm sun, and were not dressed accordingly.

Finbar was the first to join in him his wait for their companions, it seemed, as Harry saw him walking through the darkened corridor. His gait was easy and confident, his broad shoulders laid back. The first impression you got from him was a rather intimidating one, with Finbar standing a good six feet high and the dark pattern of the tribal tattoo visible on the skin of his neck and jawbone, with the very tip trailing to a stop on the bottom of his right cheek. There was an almost tangible shroud of strength cloaking him, but Harry felt that it was _not _only because of Finbar's naturally broad chest, his well defined upper arms, and the well-developed muscles in his stomach. However odd, he was not heavy looking, but just athletically built in a way that most young men could only dream about on that age. The real strength Harry felt coming from him, came from the person within that strong body, the one that looked at the world through those uncommon light blue eyes.

"Feeling better?" Finbar asked, smiling kindly as he let his rucksack slip from his shoulders and sink to the stone floor.

Somewhat startled that Finbar seemed to have noticed his dark mood earlier that day, he answered somewhat embarrassed, "Yeah, sorry that I came over like an ass. Just the weather, I guess."

"Just the weather," repeated Finbar, his keen gaze knowing.

Uncomfortable, Harry dug his hands deep into his pockets, wondering whether he would _ever_ get used to Finbar's perceptiveness. Ron _was_ right, it _was_ quite unnerving. He remained silent, helplessly trying to find something he could say, but he wasn't as much at ease with Finbar as he was around Ron, or even Hermione who he just started to know better.

"So…" he started somewhat tentatively, not allowing himself to withdraw too much into that world of his own, "What class did you come from?"

"I've just had Neurophysiologic." Came his deep voice, that seemed to burr upwards from somewhere in his chest.

Harry arched a dark eyebrow at him, "That sounds…complicated." He said slowly, "Whatever it is."

A spontaneous laugh escaped Finbar and he shook his dark haired hair, "Sorry, you probably don't know it is one of the aspects in my major, Psychology."

'So he studies Psychology, I should have known,' Harry thought amusedly as he looked past a stray lock of hair that tickled his nose.

Before long Hermione, Dean and Ron had joined them, and talking became somewhat less strained. Conversation drifted back and forth between them, as they awaited Seamus' and Neville's arrivals. It was during one of Ron's vehement mutterings about the injustice of having to run laps in weather like this, that they were approached by someone whose face Harry did not know.

A young boyish face greeted them with a wide grin, and Ron returned the favor by giving him a clap on the back.

"How wonderful of you to grace us with your presence," Ron said, over-doing his British accent.

"I felt like mingling among the mere commoners today, you see," he retorted snobbishly in a fake manner.

Finbar gave him a rather rough push against the shoulder, sending the youth tripping a few paces away, "I'll give you mere commoners, kid."

"Take some chill pills, brother dear, still pissy about yesterday?" he muttered as he straightened himself, a glitter present in his eyes as he thought about some unknown prank he had doubtlessly unleashed on his older sibling.

"Just trying to keep your scrawny ass out of trouble; with that big mouth of yours." Finbar retorted, giving him a good ruffle through his chestnut brown hair, making it stand in all directions.

"Tch, why don't you just look at that: brotherly love," Ron cooed, pretending to wipe away some imaginary tears.

It was just like Ron to chose the worst timing of all, because unbeknownst to him; his two own twin brothers had witnessed the whole event. And now one of them draped an arm around his shoulders, "Aw Ronnie-kins, if you longed for that kind of attention, you should just have said so."

Today they did not wear distinguishing t-shirts, and Harry, not acquainted with them long enough to find other hints that must surely set them apart, not even a week, just had to guess who was who. That did not, however, quell his amusement at Ron's red-eared embarrassment.

The other brother pulled Ron back against his chest, in a visibly tight, vise-like grip. He made sideways rocking motions as he chanted in a childlike manner, "From now on we will hug you, and play with you, and do, like, brotherly things together and we will be beeeeees-ted friends!"

"Get lost George!" hissed Ron, who was still trying in vain to win back his dignity.

"I'm George, little bro, that's Fred." The other redhead said, grinning mischievously.

Still wriggling, Ron huffed, "Bullshit, Fred, I know it's George!" but he didn't look so certain anymore.

Somewhat confused by now, Harry's attention started to wander, and so did his eyes. Curiously he looked for their newest addition to their group, Finbar's younger brother, named Darragh, if he remembered correctly. He was surprised to find the latter's gaze already on him, just as curious as Harry's. A pair of seemingly _golden _eyes locked with Harry's own brilliant green ones. The raven haired youth blinked. Never before had he seen a color as Darragh's. They were not a deceiving shade of clear hazel, like those of his cousin's, Blaise Zabini, but as aurulent as the color of the rising sun.

The full lips that could also be found on Finbar's face twitched into a smile, then he stuck out his hand, "Hi, I'm Darragh, but I guess they've already told you."

With a smile of his own, he accepted Darragh's hand," Yeah, I'm Harry."

"And this is Luna Lovegood. I don't think you two have met either."

For the first time, Harry noticed that a thin young woman stood somewhat behind him. What immediately struck him were her protuberant silvery gray eyes and straggly, waist-length, dirty-blond hair. Behind her ear stuck a professional looking ball-point pen.

"Eh…Hi." He said to her as Darragh sidestepped so he could see Luna wholly.

"Hello…" she answered dreamily, giving off an aura of distinct dottiness. "You're Harry Potter."

Harry combed habitually at his fringe with his fingers, covering his scar, "I know." he deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at Darragh.

The golden-eyed youth, however, did not seem very perturbed by her unusual behavior. After a moment of silence, the two of them started talking, leaving Harry to wonder how Darragh did not seem to care about her abnormalities. They were talking about recent-alien sightings (something Harry found rather peculiar on its own) that an article in the flashy magazine, that Luna held in her delicate hands, proclaimed.

Seeing the magazine somehow reminded him of his own books, causing him to smack his forehead audibly, "Bloody damn! I forgot my English books!" he exclaimed, "You guys go on ahead, I'll catch up!"

"Better go back quickly; professor McGonagall usually stays there over lunch to clean up a bit. I'll wait here 'till you're back." Hermione provided helpfully.

"Thanks Hermione!" he said, already starting to walk briskly back to where he had had his previous course.

Swiftly he retraced his footsteps, meeting only a single late student here and there. Bravely he started jogging up to the third floor, only to groan miserably when he got there. It felt as if the muscles in his tights had steeled themselves in protest, producing a faint cramping sensation in his legs. From a distance he could see that the door was still opened, a rivulet of electric lamp-light spilling into the dim hallway he was walking in. It seemed that if the rain was set on leaving his imprint on the students one way or the other, and the clouds had blocked out any light from entering the stone building.

Politely, he rapped his knuckles against the door before he peeked into the class. The stern professor looked up from where she had been stacking some papers.

"Excuse me," Harry said as respectfully as he could, "But I belief I forgot my books here earlier."

McGonagall glanced at him with hawk-like eyes "Ah yes, Mr. Potter, I figured something like that…" she reached in to one of the many drawers of her desk, revealing his book when she handed it to her student. "Try to take more care of your belongings…"

Harry grinned ever so slightly, "I will try my best, Mrs. Thank you."

As he left the classroom, the professor shook her head in resignation and resumed her perusing of the document she had left unattended.

Though she was very strict, McGonagall was also fair and Harry found that there had been an immediate respect for his English teacher. It was pleasing that the most important courses, those of his Major, were tutored by the more pleasant teachers he had come across so far, with exception of Remus Lupin of course, who he favored the most.

So far this new school experience had not turned out to be that bad, though he was increasingly more starting to miss his friends back in London. Among them was a particular individual whose strength and reassurance Harry would very much value to have now. As he was pondering this, he saw two lone figures stand at the far end of the hallway, just at the stairs he was going to have to take. Instinctively he had already slowed his pace, and he came almost to a stop when he recognized who they were.

While she was struggling with the two bags she was carrying along with her today –one being her book bag, the other a large sport bag which's contents she would need for the weekend- Alex was humming non-committingly every now and then. She crouched to the floor, zipped one of them open and began to dig through its contents, apparently needing something that seemed to be hiding within the jumble inside. Above her, Draco Malfoy continued his monologue, droning on and on about some topic he seemed to find of vital importance to the world. Most likely himself, Alex noted inwardly.

"That's great Draco, just great." She was muttering as a frown crowned her eerie eyes while she vainly peered into her bag.

For a moment longer her tanned, ringed fingers were patting around in the contents, hoping to come across yet another bracelet she had tossed in there earlier and which she now wanted back. Then she noticed Draco's uncharacteristic silence –usually his rants lasted for hours- and before she was fully able to progress the information, a hand grabbed the back of her over-sized jacket and hauled her to her feet. A word of protest left her throat as she was suddenly pressed against a slim, firm torso. Draco's arms slid around her, one hand ending in the back of her neck, where it warmed the chilled skin. Next there were lips against her left temple, a tender kiss, almost.

"Incoming." He whispered huskily, and he gave her an urgent look with a shift of his head.

Immediately her arms crawled up his lean frame, stroking, and finally curled around his neck. Tender words were breathed against his collarbone, nuzzling the fabric of his black shirt. She found that he smelled distinctly like coffee. Draco's hand moved from her neck up to wind into her locks, the strings of hair plaited between his fingers. The other arm, which was slung around her slim waist, pulled her closer yet and Alex could feel the lines and contours of his washboard stomach through his shirt pressing against her own body.

Meanwhile, Harry was staring rather bluntly at them, his stomach tight as he observed one of Malfoy's pale hands resting on the small of her back, two fingers stroking the bronze skin that was revealed there. He tripped somewhat clumsily, and he vaguely noted that he should tie his shoelaces.

Eyes that were shifting hues from blue to grey glared at Harry from behind thick lashes of dark blonde. "What?" Draco barked unexpectedly at the raven-haired youth.

Harry didn't even flinch and did an amazing job of suddenly switching to an almost scathingly look, "Nothing," he said defensively, "I was just passing, or is that a crime?"

Draco snarled with a dastardly grin curling his lips "Then you move like a bloody snail, because you've been passing for half an hour now!"

Jaw tightening and cheeks blossoming red, knowing that he had been caught gawking, Harry picked up his pace, eyes resolutely anchored to the floor. When he got to the stairs he hopped down them hurriedly, feeling Malfoy's unrelenting stare drilling holes into his back.

As the couple watched him go, remaining motionless until every sound of his footsteps had echoed away, only then did Alex shrug of his arms. Draco released a relieved sigh and leaned heavily against the wall, a hand cradling his forehead.

Arching a white eyebrow at him, she said somewhat irritated, "All that drama just for him? You sure looked like you fucking meant it." If she was being somewhat over-defensive, Alex could care less. There was an awkward, unsettling feeling after that 'moment', and her shackles were already raised.

"Just making sure." He answered with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. Logically, he was not bothered, even more so, he didn't see a problem in what had happened even if he would actually think about it.

Arms crossed over her chest, Alex followed the direction his gray eyes were still eying. Suddenly it dawned on her, "I see…" she said, a broad grin twisting her lips.

"What?" Draco asked, knowing that whatever was going to come, he was not going to enjoy it.

"My dear Draco… You," she prodded him in the chest, "were so," her grin was almost maniacal by now, "checking out Mr.Potter's ass!"

For a moment, he blinked open mouthed at her, before raising his voice indignantly, "I was totally not! What are you; demented?"

"You fancy him don't you?" she whispered, a sly smile curling over her dusky lips.

If there was a word to describe the expression that settled over Draco's face, there certainly wasn't one to describe the one that froze on his countenance "Him?" he scoffed, voice suddenly at a disturbing high pitch. Clearing his throat he straightened himself, adopting his horrid, superior air. What he would give for a remote to turn her off at times like these.

Trying to suppress the laughter that was threatening to spill over her lips elected funny snorting sounds. Between heaves of sparsely controlled sniggers she breathed, "You were particularly drooling! This is priceless. Gods, so _that's_ what the whole show was for; you were making a point to yourself. Afraid you can't keep those hands of yours to y'rself, eh?"

"That is a _load of crap_!" he hissed sharply, taking an advancing step to threaten her.

Alex, however, didn't even budge and continued to smirk at him knowingly.

"And could you keep that big yap of yours shut!" he demanded, making shifty eyes through the hallway, almost as if he expected Colin Creevey to jump out of an aisle with a tape-recorder and photo-camera in hand.

Pointing an accusing finger at her he said snidely, "You are _supposed _to be my _girlfriend! _So I would appreciate it if you'd stop spouting things about my sexual preference in the middle of the whole damn school!"

"Woohoow, buddy, relax, chill, Zen, goosfraba." Alex shushed, holding up her hands in a halting motion, "My 'contract' (she made finger quotations in the air) states this to be only at school and in social-events that might expose your 'situation' (again air-quotes) to the wrong individuals."

"Newsflash!" he spat into her face, "We ARE at school!"

Rolling her eyes, Alex sighed heavily, "Draco… Loosen up" and used her forefinger to push his nose back a couple of inches. "Nobody's here."

Draco snorted, throwing an arm over his head irately and feeling completely misunderstood.

"Besides," Alex continued, her raw voice more serious now, "it might not be so bad that your 'secret' came out after all."

"What's your point?" he muttered, getting suspicious again.

"My point is," his friend said flatly, bending through her knees and hauling both bags over her shoulders as if they weighed nothing, "That after the initial shocked reaction from the school, you could go on with your life, actually find yourself a boyfriend, get laid, finally settle down and be happy for once. And so could I."

"Oh, sure," he sneered sarcastically, "Like the school would be the biggest problem. I think you are forgetting a little detail here, darling."

Slowly the pair began to descend the stairs, and Alex answered exasperatedly, "You can't let him control your fucking life forever, Draco!"

"You go right ahead and try it then! Fuck you, Alex, you know-"

He was silenced by her finger against his lips, "Okay, I'm sorry. I know why it isn't simple." She withdrew her hand, and as she stood one step higher then him, she was able to look him right in the eye. "But I know what is going through that handsome head of yours, and I wish that you would just stop tormenting yourself."

Unclenching his jaw, he gazed solemnly back at her, unable to say or do anything else than feeling grateful that he still had her. Even though he didn't always treat her like he should, yelled at her more than she deserved and sometimes even ignored her while she needed him, Alex was always there.

Before he started skipping down the stairs again, he gave her a soft peck on the forehead. He never spoke to her at moments like these, because words always were the source of his troubles, spilling them out before he thought about them.

Alex just inclined her head at him, returning the smile that he hadn't known had reached his lips. They both started descending the stairs again, content with the thoughtful silence that had settled between them. Passing by the cafeteria learned them that they had been spending quite some time arguing, as Blaise had already disappeared.

"Probably outside," Draco said more to himself than to her.

Glancing through a nearby window surprised Alex by almost blinding her with a burst of sunlight. For now, the sky had cleared up. As they stepped out and onto the grounds that surrounded Hogwarts, the scent of fresh rain greeted them and a surprisingly warm breeze stirred their hair. In the near distance, they could see the tousled chocolate brown locks of Blaise Zabini.

Approaching him calmly, Draco asked casually, "So what's your last course?"

She gave him a sharp look, "Life-drawing."

Nodding, he uneasily looked up at the clear blue sky. The clouds had spread open over the whole town, almost as if someone had taken a giant knife and cut out a nice soft slice. Though, in the far distance, more dark-blue overcast came rolling towards them at a steady pace. "You really don't have to." Draco said softly.

"You know why it isn't as simple as not wanting." The bohemian answered, picking up her pace as if she wished to escape from the conversation.

Momentarily standing still, watching how Blaise interrogated her for the reason for their absence over lunch, Draco shook his head almost sadly "Nothing is simple." He muttered softly, before walking up to them.

When the brooding weather closed in upon the students once again, it was time to attend their afternoon classes. Hour per hour slipped by slowly, and the students watched morosely how the fat raindrops repetitively pelted against the building, coating it and its surroundings wholly in a blanket of wetness.

--

It was during the worst torrent as of yet that Friday, that Harry found himself struggling to get his easel adjusted as he would need it. Seamus, who was standing slightly behind him, helped him out, assuring him that he had been having trouble to the first time too. His upper legs were still killing him, and he tried to reason out why _anyone_ would turn a lift-less, seven-floored building into a school. Seven stairs really were _not _what he needed on a Friday afternoon. Make that eight, because they had to take one last winding one to the attic-like towers.

They were setting up in a spacious rectangle shaped room, with a wooden, slanted ceiling from which the support planking was visible. A large paint-stained white ceramic sink was partially hidden behind a row of metal supply cabinets, upon which in turn were various objects such as books, vases, pots, cloths, wilted flowers and whatever else that could serve the purpose of being drawn. Work tables with wooden stools were lined against the walls, with the occupant facing towards the wall that frequently had broad windows, allowing the much-needed light in. When Harry had first entered the class, he had paused to look outside, and found that he would have been able to see the whole of Hogsmeade if it were not for the dense mist. In the middle, that was where they were at the moment, stood the easels, somewhat forming a circle around a little platform.

Almost done, Harry taped a large sheet of paper to his easel, his pencil clenched between his teeth so he could use both his hands. Art course as one of the _additional_ courses he had signed up for, and was thusly not important for his end-results at the end of the year. Otherwise he would have had to take a second hour of Chemistry or Family Management, and compared to Art, his choice had quickly been made. Not that he was a very talented artist, but he managed to draw just a little better that a stick man, plus it seemed that it could be enjoyable, more so either way than Chemistry or Family Management. And he wouldn't have to go feeling like a complete klutz, because nobody here was really talented, the 'real' artists did not attend the same session as them, obviously, as they were way ahead of their level anyway. Dean, who was the only one of their circle of friends with Art & Illustration as his major, was now having additional math class.

Finally, he dug out his eraser, some pencils and awaited further instructions.

With the commotion dying down, Harry raised his head towards the door, and saw a pretty young woman with a pale heart-shaped face. And with a shock of bubble-gum pink hair that made Harry blink again.

"Wotcher class!" she said cheerily, which elected an equally enthusiastic noise from the class and scored a smile on Harry's face.

He heard Seamus's voice whisper behind him, "You'll be glad you picked Art, mate. As a matter a fact, it's a wonderful course to end the week with."

The Art teacher, named Tonks, Ron had told him earlier, looked to be in her early twenties, with loose-fitting jeans that were smudged with oil-paint. "Okay, everybody, as this is your first class of the year, I want you to make some loose sketches on A4 or A3 first, before attempting a bigger one on your easel. Try not to use your erasers too much, if it goes wrong, just correct it and strengthen them with a softer pencil or even a ballpoint pen afterwards."

Having finished what had been needed to say, Tonks withdrew herself to one of the working tables against the wall, hopped up on it, and attentively regarded her pupils as she swung her legs somewhat restlessly back and forth.

Feeling somewhat stupid, Harry followed the example the rest of the class set, by retrieving a chair and a drawing board, some A4 papers and settled towards the centre of the circle. Embarrassed, he realized he had no idea what he was suppose to draw, perhaps maybe the wretched square platform. He honestly could not have been stupid enough to miss the purpose of what he was supposed to do.

Just as he was about to ask Finbar, flanking his right, what in the Gods' name they were supposed to draw, a young woman walked into the circle, wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Stepping up on it, she undid her robe, but kept it wrapped around her just a little longer.

"Just some simple standing poses, will do, Alex. Won't make it too difficult…yet." Tonks requested, smiling up from above the register she had been filling in.

Nodding, Alex discarded the garment somewhat reluctantly and quickly took a pose that had one hand resting on her hip, her other relaxed by her side.

Completely naked.

Harry dropped his pencil.

Finbar, whose stub of charcoal was already flying over the paper, halted his progress when Harry just did not move. Subtly clearing his throat luckily proved to be enough to gain his slackened attention, and the raven-haired youth hurriedly bend sideways to pick up his pencil and clumsily set the first lines on his sheet. Smiling ruefully, Finbar recalled that his reaction had been exactly the same.

Usually models were somewhat elderly women, which were not as provocatively attractive as a young woman like Alex. In the beginning he had not been able to comprehend why it was _her_, nor what her reason could be. Now though, he had a fair idea what it was about, and he felt both sorry and relieved for her that this had been a solution to a rather delicate problem. Also, she was old enough to legally do this kind of modeling.

Meanwhile Harry's brain was pondering the same topic as Finbar's. Why in the bloody name of God was she posing? Sure, he had figured that there might be a model posing naked, but that it would be _Alex_ of all people. No, he hadn't seen that one coming. Though seeing a female naked did not arouse any reaction from his body, Harry was not blind. He was aware that he might just be looking upon the most beautiful female figure he had ever seen. Aside from the bundle of white dreadlocks and inhuman green eyes, Alex had appeared to be not as painfully perfect as Pansy Parkinson and her consorts. And while she certainly was not perfect, there was no way that there could be denied that she a very sexually attractive person. He tried to capture the luscious curves that dipped in all the right spots, her voluminous breasts or her swath hips with his pencil, but succeeded in it as badly as he had in trying to draw her athletic and strong upper-tights or her wiry arms. Hard muscles could be seen rippling under bronzed skin whenever she shifted into a new position for them to sketch. And while she did so, Harry had counted a tribal pattern on her right outer-thigh and one trailing partially over her spine, between the shoulder blades.

Suddenly it hit him that they were all looking at none other than Draco Malfoy's girlfriend. Almost shocked, his head snapped towards where the blonde who was already standing straight at his easel. His forehead was creased as if something unidentifiable were bothering him. And while it should have been obvious, it also seemed that Malfoy had more on his mind than the sixteen pairs of eyes that were on his girlfriend.

"Alright here?" an overly-loud voice (in Harry's opinion) breathed into his neck.

Jumping nervously and trying to turn around resulted in his pencil tumbling to the floor of the art studio for the second time that period.

"I don't bite, no worries!" Tonks chuckled brightly, holding up her hands in surrender, "Drifted off quite far in your concentration, weren't you?"

"Concentration my ass," Harry heard Seamus snort amusedly, probably thinking the emerald eyed student had been ogling the model.

"Finnigan, keep your perverted little fantasies to _yourself_, thankyouverymuch." Tonks said in a purposefully loud voice, so that the whole class could hear it. Naturally this caused many to snigger at his embarrassment, but also caused Malfoy to direct a glare as pure as acid at the Irishman.

Alex herself, standing in a pose that made Harry wonder how she managed to stay that way without falling over or having a cramp, abruptly stuck her tongue out quite childishly at Seamus. The sandy-haired youth turned such a shade of scarlet at being so directly confronted by a naked woman. Somewhat lifted out of his troubled reverie by her casual display, Harry arched his head so he could look questioningly at his teacher.

With narrowed eyes, Tonks was eyeing his sketch critically; her head close next to Harry's. The latter did not dare to move and wondered what was taking her so long in her judgment of his work.

"Have you been taking art classes before?" she asked curiously.

Harry shook his head in a no, trying to hide behind his dark fringe from the interested glances of his classmates. Especially Malfoy was leveling such an unreadable, yet intense look at him that Harry had trouble deciding whether he liked it or not.

"Well, for your first lesson, this is actually quite good. With some practice you might have gotten into Art & Illustration." Tonks praised, patting his shoulder once in favorable manner.

Then she finally wandered off to Finbar, who didn't seem even remotely disturbed that she nearly breathed into the back of his neck while he was drawing at his easel. Probably, he had gotten used to this routine already. Somewhat thrown out of his diligence at his sketching, Harry was distractedly looking at what he could see from the slab of picture Malfoy had drawn at the opposite side of class. Annoyed, Harry had to conclude that the prick was not only smart, overly handsome, had an odd brand of witty sarcasm that disturbingly was at times actually _funny_, unless you were standing at the wrong end of it, of course, and was _straight_, but that he also was quite talented at seemingly everything he put his mind to. Even drawing.

Unlike from what he could see from his fellow 'artists', who had all tried to depict the whole of Alex's naked figure, Draco had zoomed in on her hand, which had been resting at the very beginning of the black tribal tattoo on her right thigh. It was done with such a startling eye for detail, and yet at the same time loosely, that it seemed as if the fingers of the hand could twitch any given moment. Only using a pencil, the blonde had somehow captured the very essence of who his girlfriend truly was. Though only a hand and a partition of her lower body, Malfoy had managed to sweep his pencil almost lovingly into the soft curve of her bottom, and then downwards to the strong surface of her thigh. The upper space of his paper was filled with the angle of her hipbone and then the flats of her smooth stomach. The whole drawing radiated vitality, a distinctly feminine warmth and yet an unyielding strength that was present under the very skin that made up who Alex Ladon seemed to be. The lines that he had used as a base to construct his drawing upon were still visible and he had only chosen to darken parts here and there, fleetingly and yet accurate.

After a while, Harry decided to give drawing at the easel a go himself, not wanting his struggle with the damn wooden construction to be in vain. The class passed on relatively without any distractions after that, and soon the bell was to ring, echoing so sharply through the towers that most of the class spontaneously groaned.

Tonks toured about the class as everybody started packing up in a rush, offering some comments here and there, which mostly went unheard by the ones who were eager to leave, being majority of the class. Harry rotated his shoulders as he observed the interaction between Tonks and her students, trying to make out what she was saying to them. Just as he was doing his best to sharpen his hearing so he could understand what she was saying to Malfoy, he was startled by their model's whirl of bathrobes as she left to a screen which was discreetly placed to the far end of the class.

Gathering his sketches and supplies, he gave each of his works a quick look-over, as he scribbled his name hastily in the corner of each paper. On the first her head was too big, on the second her legs too long, on another one yet her hands gravely deformed. Seeing that, Harry was glad that it was only an optional course. He handed them to Tonks as she ambled past him, returning her cheery wink with a small grin of his own and went to stand next to Finbar. The broad shouldered youth was fixating his charcoal sketch on the easel with hairspray, scrunching up his nose at the overwhelming smell.

"That's quite good." Harry commented. Not the work of a specialist, but at least his proportions were correct.

Finbar grimaced at him "You think? The shading's all wrong…"

"Then you haven't seen mine…" Harry returned wryly, hauling his rucksack over his shoulder.

Meanwhile, having jumped up as soon as the bell had rang; Ron came to stand beside them. And having heard Harry's last comment he answered, "Don't worry, mate, it's just an optional course. Besides, if you're really serious about it, all I can say is practice, practice, practice…"

Having checked whether the paper was dry enough to roll it up, Ron helped Finbar out with clearing his easel and setting it to the side while the latter went to hand over his sketches to their teacher.

Then the three of them lingered in the hallway after jogging down the winding staircase, waiting for Seamus to catch up.

"So, what are you planning to do this weekend?" Ron asked him, eating one of the many candy bars that seemed to be stored into his rucksack in a vast supply.

Harry gave a one-shouldered shrug, "Not much exciting. We're still trying to get our flat in order, you know. And attempt getting that essay done for Snape, if we can get up the internet this weekend, otherwise it will be a trip to the library, I fear."

Sympathy etched itself over Ron's freckled face at the mention of the much-dreaded essay, and his mind tried to work out a quick and painless solution for the problem. The proverbial light bulb was almost visible when he snapped his fingers, "I know!" he said, "We can ask Hermione in a minute, and she's bound to have some book in her collection about that Sorcerer's Stone."

"Philosopher's Stone, Ron," Finbar remarked dryly.

"Sorcerer, Philosopher, _whatever,_ the stone which Harry's essay has to be about." Ron muttered irately.

"You think she won't mind?" said Harry, trying to divert the attention to the topic at hand.

Ron waved at him, "No, she won't. Not for you anyway."

"Not yet, you mean," Finbar said with a deep chuckle, "Cause if he starts copying everything from her like you do, he'll end up at bad end of her lecturing-mode."

At that moment, Harry's eye caught the numerous dreadlocks known to be Alex's dart past them, two heavy loaded bags slung over her shoulders, and purposely not looking at anyone. Somehow Harry felt somehow odd seeing her dressed again, and he was not quite sure if he would get used to having a classmate pose naked for him.

His passive gaze got sharp and attentive when a beefy guy whose name he did not know placed a hand against the wall just in front of her nose, effectively barricading her way.

"Hey Ladon," he drawled at her in what he probably fancied to be a seductive tone, "Busy this weekend? Because I thought I'd like to get more practice in that model drawing, get in _shape_ again after the vacation… you know?"

Alex stepped away from him, and out of his immediate proximity, her pose somewhat defensive and tense. "Bite me…" she hissed harshly and quickly moved to circle past his left, where he was not leaning against the stone wall.

For appearing such a plump, dimwitted fellow, Montangue was surprisingly quick, "Is that a proposition?" he leered, moving to make a grab for her wrist…

Just as Harry moved to intervene, forgetting that it was probably none of his business, Malfoy seemed to loom out of the shadows and within a heartbeat, Montangue was pinned up to the wall, his throat in a death grip. A positively murderous look had twisted his features and the soft artic gray of his eyes were now radiating cold fury, and for such a seemingly lithely-build physique, he did have a very intimidating aura.

"Listen carefully you fucking asshole…" Draco spit at him, disgusted, by now face-to-face with the object of his animosity. "If you ever lay one finger on her again, I swear, I'll rip your lungs out with my bare hands." For emphasis he tightened the grip on the other's neck, his knuckles jutting out from under the pale skin.

All Montangue could do, was to nod once as he heaved for the much needed air.

Draco abruptly let go of him, letting his opponent slump to the floor in a rather pathetic heap. Just then, Blaise Zabini came flying past Harry, nearly smashing him into Ron.

"What the bloody hell is going on here!" he demanded, hazel eyes leering from Montangue's defeated form to Draco's tight face, nearly ashen with rage (who, Harry noted inwardly, did not seem to turn red while angered as other people do) , and finally to Alex's shocked expression.

Malfoy did not even acknowledge him, but spun around briskly, grabbing Alex's wrist harshly in the progress, dragging her along roughly with him as he stormed of to the stairs.

Blaise blinked after them, thoroughly perturbed and then finally looked at his cousin for answers. With a few words Finbar sketched the situation at which Blaise on his turn crouched down next to Montangue, who had propped himself up against the wall. Leaning close he hissed something that seemed particularly gruesome into the guy's ear, for which he was rewarded with a thoroughly frightened wide-eyed look from his victim.

Satisfied with that, he bid Finbar strangely calm goodbye, and with an equally collected air, he strode away after his friends. Leaving the three friends alone with a miserable Montangue who seemed to be attempting to decide which would be worse; facing Draco Malfoy or Blaise Zabini.

--

Meanwhile, at a frightful pace, Draco had thundered through entrance gates and into the fine, wet drizzle to which they were exposed outside. It made enough of a difference that Alex snapped out of her initial shock, "What the hell is wrong with you?" she protested, grinding her feet into the muddy grass and bringing him to a stop.

Draco rounded on her, "What is wrong with me?" he asked viciously, narrowing his eyes to dangerous slits, "You! That's what wrong with me! You and your damn stubborn pride!"

Twisting her arm into odd angles to get it out of his grip she snarled back, "Like hell this is about pride! I don't want to be your fucking charity case, Malfoy!"

"That's what it exactly is about!" Draco growled just as bitterly, "You being all thick-headed about the whole issue. If you would just fucking listen to me for once, it'd all be easier."

"I can take care of myself!" Alex practically shouted at him, sending a very dirty-looking glare in the direction of some lower years that had almost stopped to watch the heated exchange.

"Like hell you can! You totally froze right just now!" he yelled into her face, but his voice had gotten a distinctly different undertone to it, almost urgent and maybe even worried.

Alex managed to yank her arm forcefully out of his hold, immediately balling her fists at her side, "The bastard just startled me! It would have been fine!" she contradicted.

"It's not fine!" Draco returned, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her small form somewhat wildly, sending her teetering back and forth between his hands.

Luckily, before the brawl went into the wrong direction ever further, Blaise interfered before it could do so, stepping between them and laying a calming hand in Draco's shoulder. "Break it up you two; shouting at each other is not going to settle it."

"Someone has to try and pound it into that obstinate little brain of hers!" Draco cried sarcastically, throwing both his arms over his head in frustration.

Trying to lower his voice somewhat so Alex wouldn't overhear, Blaise tried to bargain him, "I'll try to talk to her tonight, alright? Just calm down, for the Gods' sake."

But Alex had caught what he'd said and crossed her tanned arms indignantly over her chest, "You're supposed to be on my side!" she mumbled, frowning accusingly at Blaise.

The chocolate haired youth smiled somewhat ruefully at her, "Not this time, Alex." Under the gentle, but unyielding grip of his hand, Blaise felt most of the boiling vexation seep away from the tense shoulder of his friend. Out of the corners of his eyes he could see a deep frown rumple Draco's forehead, obviously troubled. He gave him a reassuring squeeze before he removed his hand.

Arms still crossed, Alex was glaring at the tip of her shoe, with which she was nudging a small pebble into the soggy grass. She hated it when things backfired on her like this, and even more so disliked having the knowledge that in a way, Draco was right.

Watching her with warm eyes, Blaise found that she looked disturbingly small in the oversized jacked, which did not seem water-proof at all, if the goose bumps in her neck were anything to go by. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her firmly to his side, he said somewhat teasingly, "Don't pull a face like that, it might stick that way."

Alex rolled her eyes at him, knowing that the tone he used was intended to make her feel like she was a child, but a small smile circled her lips.

Rubbing her arm with his hand, he shook her slightly, "Well, then, ready to go? Or are you really planning on sulking out here for the rest of the weekend? Cause I sure am not going to wait until the two of you have worked it out." He said, and added as afterthought, "If you two are capable of that. Which I doubt."

"Fuck you, Zabini." Draco said again, for the second time that day, but now he was having trouble biting back a grin.

Blaise arched an eyebrow at him, smirking, and then changed the topic altogether, "By the way, are you stopping by this evening?"

"Grounded, remember?" Draco huffed, giving a jerk with his chin, finding the injustice of it all despicable.

His friend nodded wearily, remembering, and wished he would have kept his mouth shut about the matter. Fortunately, Draco did not seem interested on hammering on the subject again and he took that as his cue to depart homewards.

"Right, we'll be going then, I'm getting rather cold and there's a bus over four minutes." said Blaise, while motioning to take over the bag from Alex which was packed to spend the weekend at his place. Which she, predictably, refused.

Draco nodded somewhat desolately, slipping into a bad mood again. After a somewhat strained parting words but with a heartfelt hug, he said goodbye to Alex, as did he to Blaise with a graceful inclination of his head.

Then, lowering their heads against the newest shower of thick raindrops, Alex and Blaise hurried towards their stop, catching the bus just in time. They wobbled over to a vacant two seat, grabbing for the iron poles in support as the bus jerked into motion again. Having worked their way over there, Alex slid into the seat first, heaving a contented sigh, Blaise lowering himself next to her and hauling one of the bags up to his lap and out of her hands.

As usual, the bus was positively crowded on a Friday afternoon, the two of them having been lucky to block the passage for all getting-on passengers at their stop with the bags, allowing them to occupy the last two seat. Blaise disliked busses, resenting the unsteady pace, the whining ankle-biters and the many passengers that just stood in the way. Of course his family could have afforded just about any type of transport he would have preferred, but he did not actually enjoy showing off his status. Especially now he knew quite some close friends who did not have such needless luxury.

By his side, Alex had leaned her forehead against the cold window, the rivulets of water running down the side of the bus, casting shadowy lines on her face. Somewhat worried, he noted that she looked worn, as if that last hurdle of the day had robbed her from all her physical strength. With her guard down like this, only then it was apparent that behind the flippant sarcasm and the many challenging grins, she was actually somewhat muddled about what brooded in that hectic style of living she applied. As of late Blaise had caught her more than once like this, her metal guards roughened up and her physical strength gone from her wiry body. Probably because she didn't sleep enough, or didn't have the time to eat at regular intervals, over-estimated the limits of the human body or the amount of shit your emotional state of mind could swallow. Alex seemed convinced that letting it all out, whatever it was she was bottling up, was not worth the waste of her precious little free time.

It took longer than he would have liked before the vehicle screeched to stop at their halt, adding with the nuisance of having to lug the baggage and school packs through the unyielding mass of people, the humid smell of rain mixed with body sweat irking Blaise out.

Their feet slapped wetly on the street as the two of them hurriedly made their way through the more upscale part of Hogsmeade. The Zabini's stately house was seated behind a curly, black, iron Victorian fence, almost as an announcement to the perfectly smooth driveway splitting the lush garden that surrounded the villa.

It was, for someone from the more modest side of town, a true sight to behold, but compared to the other mansions in the neighborhood, it was not as an oppressive display of luxury. Their wealth was more evident in the large stretch of ground they owned and their stables with the fine and pure bred equines. His father was the one who took great interest in breeding, specifically the Swedish Warmblood, while his mother had once made name by claiming quite a few trophies that now had her name on it.

Nevertheless, by the time they had crossed the expanse of land between the bus-stop and the actual front door of his house, Alex's dreads were heavy with rain and rapidly dripping on the rather expensive carpet. Instead of neatly knotted rope-like tresses they resembled a heavy, full white sponge, hanging solidly down around her tanned and wet-shining face.

Grimacing when she saw the damage on the matting, she apologized, "Fuck. I'm sorry about that."

Though Alex was not a stranger to this particular household, she still seemed to feel rather out-of-place whenever she came to visit. And those occasions were _quite_ numerous, considering her sleeping over almost every weekend for almost a year and a half, not including holidays. As of late, luckily, it appeared that her tenseness_ almost_ vanished over the course of the weekend.

Blaise threw her a somewhat pointed look, found that it went unnoticed and offered instead that he'd go and fetch a towel. "Be right back." He promised, after dutifully leaving his shoes where they belonged and shrugging of what he could miss from his soaked clothing.

Left behind in entrance hall, Alex tried hard not to drip on the carpet, shifting the white mass over her shoulder instead. The carpet now saved, but the effect of having continuously rivulets of water tickle into her cleavage was not quite an improvement on her part.

"Ah, Miss Ladon, I am quite sorry of my absence. I was helping the Lady in the kitchen."

A gruff voice drifted quite suddenly into the hallway, and Alex nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Please," she started to say.

"Call me Alex." the Zabini's butler, whose name was quite appropriately Yameson, finished fondly for her, "I know, Miss Ladon, but it is not appropriate for the etiquette."

"Fuck the etiquette." Blaise muttered, as he whirled into the hallway again, a fluffy towel draped over his arm.

Yameson arched a graying eyebrow crossly, "Language young Master." He chided, but only because it was expected of him.

A grin bloomed on Blaise's full lips as he wagged his eyebrows at their butler, but furthermore interested himself with worrying over Alex's state of 'soakedness'. He decided that she needed to get out of that clothing fast. Thinking about that made the rational, gentleman half of his mind nod curtly, while the other half was sending quite provoking thoughts -those that might (not that they did of course) include him peeling away said offending articles of clothing- to rather low situated regions of his body. Regions he'd rather have not make themselves know at the time. Good thing though that he was chilled to the bone.

Somewhat impatiently he pushed Alex out of the hallway and into the room beyond, leaving a knowingly smirking Yameson behind him.

He herded Alex in front of him out of the foyer and eventually into the kitchen, where his mother, Brinn Zabini, was amidst a white steam that originated from the many pots and bowls that she was multi-tasking with on the white-tiled counter. Stainless steel appliances, light grey tinted tiles and wooden cabinets dominated a first quick glance of the kitchen, which was a bright, spacious room, ideal to move about in.

"Hi mum," he said, leaving Alex a moment to properly wrap the towel around her head as he ambled over to her to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Hey dear," she answered, smiling warmly at him, little lines crinkling at the corners of her hazel eyes, his eyes, as she did so. "Goodness, Alex, honey, you are positively _soaked_ to the skin!" she exclaimed, making it sound as if she was an inch of catching pneumonia, "Blaise, what are you _thinking_? Good gracious, you should have gone straight ahead and help her with the baggage to her room, so she can change into something dryer."

A disbelieving, if not exasperated look sprang onto Blaise's face, "Gee, thanks mum. I appreciate your concern; just leave it to your only son to save the guest's health while he himself freezes to death." He muttered somewhat sarcastically, ignoring Alex's snigger behind his back.

Briefly abandoning her cooking pots, Brinn turned around to face her son, brandishing a spoon threateningly at him. Ironically, Blaise, being the only son out of four children, was the only one that resembled his mother. The same dark, chocolate brown hair could be seen on the slender woman, hair that tumbled around a finely chiseled face in lush curls. Luckily, he had not inherited the lush curls nor the fragile bone-structure. What he did have, though, were her eyes, the same intelligent bright hazel, her hair, as thick and dark as hers and her full lips. The same lips Brinn's sister, Serene, had too. The same attractive lips his cousins, Finbar and Darragh, too, had. Lips he, Blaise Zabini, was quite unaware of.

His three sisters took more after his father, perhaps with exception of Jinx.

Feigning fright, he backed of, hands in the air, eying his mother's twitching spoon wearily until he came next to his friend again, "Move to the stairs slowly. Make no sudden movements." He said in morbidly serious tone, pretending as if he were shielding her with his body from sudden death. "Save yourself, while I, Blaise Zabini, shall courageously sacrifice myself to the fury of the wooden spoon, while you, my love, will live!"

Pausing briefly in the rubbing dry of her hair, she snorted at him, "Yeah sure, I'll do that and I'll have many children with some guy who gives a toss about me and weep over your saddening death every night, until in heaven we shall reunite." Alex quipped drolly.

Blaise lowered his hands and rolled his eyes at her playfully, "I would have been satisfied with 'My hero' and a kiss on the cheek. But whatever floats your boat I guess."

"Blaise…!" his mother trailed off, voice rising in volume.

Saluting her derisively, he continued his ushering of Alex throughout the house and up the stairs. The flight of dark wooden stairs gleamed slightly in its polish, but by the time the duo had hauled the bags up them, they had left a guilty trail of water drops in their wake. It led into a landing with eight doors along it, offering quite a choice. Padding through, he passed one door, which was opened a very small creek. Knowing whose occupant it was, Blaise instinctively strained his ears. Silence. He smiled.

The second door whose occupant he had yet to greet was not as blissfully calm as the first; the blearing noise of some godforsaken boys band defied the solid obstacle of the door, torturing both Alex's and Blaise's ears. He picked up his pace.

Pushing open the door opposite of his room, both situated at the very end of the landing, Blaise took one long stride in. Gratefully, he lowered the sports bag to the ground with a dull thud. Alex entered shortly after, setting her school bag on the ground with the same contented sigh.

"Thanks for the help," she said, nudging the sports bag with her sock-clad toes. "Guess you deserve that kiss after all."

Blaise played casual, "Glad to see you're so enthusiastic about it."

Offering him a smirk that would have made Draco Malfoy proud, she took a daring step closer. When he did nothing more than give her a challenging look of his own, Alex's small hand suddenly shot up and grabbed his chin. His muscles contracted in reaction to the fan of her hot breath on his face, very near to his lips that were parted in surprise. Suddenly Alex licked his cheek wetly, leaving broad stripes of saliva behind.

"Charmed," Blaise deadpanned, rubbing at his face with the hem of his wet shirt, which did nothing more than swipe it across is face even more so. He gave her a harmless shove.

Alex grinned her devil-may-care-grin while landing with flourish on the twin-sized bed. Laying there spear-eagled and apparently not planning on making any move on changing her attire until his departure, Blaise decided to do just exactly that. He left her to her business, crossed the hallway, opened the door to his room and let his rucksack slip to the floor soundly.

Sitting down on the edge of his large, queen-sized bed, and rubbed at his face with his hands for a moment, groaning softly. He hoped for dear life that she had _not_ noticed the faint blush on his cheeks. His head was buzzing, and he felt as if where somewhat drunk, with a warm tingling present in the pit of his stomach. Resolutely he stood up again, swaying unbalanced with the harsh movement and yet ignoring it as he strode over to his closet. While his hands trialed through its contents, looking for something warm, comfortable and yet something that would look nice, he wondered what was going in that head of his. The muscles in his stomach felt taut and as he dressed into warmer, and most importantly dryer clothes, he grudgingly had to conclude that perhaps he had not been chilled to the bone quite enough.

Just as he tied the draw-stings of his trainers with frustrated movements, the door slammed open quite abruptly. He nearly leaped onto his bed with a curse.

"Hey, get out!" he barked at his older sister.

Datum hopped onto the edge of his desk, heedless of the many papers and stencils kept there in organized chaos. "Good evening to you too. " She answered, narrowing her dark lashed eyelids somewhat testily at him.

Glowering at her from under stray strands of dark chocolate brown hair, Blaise tried hard to keep his blistering remarks to himself. He greatly disliked people breaching into the privacy of his room and especially Datum, as she seemed to be equipped with some proverbial radar that solely served purpose to mark out his weak spots. For example, now she had mindlessly sat down on his desk, crinkling the crisp sheets of paper he had laid there; including pieces of half-finished work that he was rather proud of. Even during the time that lapsed over summer, Blaise continued to write various articles and pursue research about subjects that had piqued his interest. His love for facts and objective information continued to drive him, even without having to do similar assignments for school, seeing as his Major was Journalism. Now there were two things he could do to get rid of his sister and end her vandalism on his work; option one would be to harshly shout at her to get her stupid ass from his desk _or, _option two,he could let her be and try to flick her off through smart comebacks and snarkish retorts. Option one was the one he really wanted to pick and have a go at her, but that would eventually lead to her getting all 'What's this' and starting to read through his stuff, while probably quoting lines and making him all sound like a moron. So, biting back the words that threatened to slip off his tongue, Blaise continued in moody silence putting on his pants.

Finishing the knot, he retorted with a low, annoyed voice, "I don't come barging into the bathroom either when you're changing or showering."

"Older sister privileges," Datum declared simply, "Besides, it's not like you've got anything I haven't seen already."

Giving her a sharp glance he walked to where he had put his long-sleeved gray t-shirt, and stretching his arms over his head, he shrugged it on.

Seeing the muscles contact and stretch her younger brother's his lean, yet toned upper-body, Datum said with a sly, calculating tone, "Unless it has evolved in a way I am not aware off."

A pillow flew from the bed and nailed Datum in the side of the head, knocking the dark blonde haired girl off her center of balance for a moment.

Grinning, she clutched the pillow, and looked at her disgruntled brother triumphantly.

Blaise pointed firmly at the door, "Out!"

With a graceful movement she slid of his desk, rumpling to his great ire many papers in the progress, and sauntered over to the doorway. Pausing there, she threw him a sweet kiss, earning a frown, and then she disappeared into the hallway.

Datum was the oldest of the four Zabini children. She was shorter than him, with hair a dark-blonde that contrasted his. Where his eyes were a bright hazel as watchful as an eagle's, hers were an inviting bright blue, sparkling with confidence. Though she was three years older than him, putting her on a total of twenty young years, most friends took him for the oldest. Or even the second youngest of the four, Jinx, was sometimes mistaken for being the first-born. Not because their features were so deceivingly more mature, but because of their ever-present perceptive regard in their hazel eyes. Datum, however, was quite the whirlwind of activity, a charming person in an attractive body, in a way much alike their cousin Darragh.

In a way, he reflected, it seemed that one could split the personalities of his sisters and him, and their cousins in two groups. In the first, Team Red, you would find Datum, Darragh and quite probably April. Though Datum was somewhat more vain and naïve than Darragh, yet they shared the same tendency to create excitement, and a tactless streak that might have upset quite a number of people. April was far too young to actually know how she'd turned out to be over ten years, but he had feeling that she'd be following her eldest sister's footsteps.

On the other hand, you had Team Blue, which included himself, Finbar and Jinx. Which you could, though horribly generalizing them, could be described as thoughtful and introspective. Out of the three of them, Finbar's dominating personality traits were a certain manner of a laid-back appearance, strong-willed to the point of being down-right stubborn and being a self-reliant young man, with a great sense of humor. He and his sister Jinx were on a same intellectual level and somewhat withdrawn slightly. Though Blaise covered his insecurities better behind his smooth and at times even charming mask, while Jinx was somewhat more shy, tending to keep to the silence of her own world. Unlike him and Finbar though, she was quite the dreamer.

Physically shaking his head to prevent himself to slip away in his thoughtfulness, Blaise walked over to the desk standing at his window. With creased forehead he smoothed out the violated sheets of paper, thinking to himself that he ought to be really immature for a change and avenge his work by burying her precious boys band cd's in the flowerbeds under her window. Or spy through her room and tried to locate the many cheesy and overly disgustingly romantic love letters he knew she hid there. Or rake a picture from her in her underwear, slip it to Darragh and let him spread it through school.

Pondering the many entertaining possibilities, he smirked to himself as he stacked some papers and slipped them together with a paperclip. He lazily stretched himself quite feline like, a habit that always seemed to pop up when he was at home. The Gods forbid he should do this at school. Then he padded out into the landing.

He skipped Datum's room yet again, which was emitting horrible sounds that were labeled by her as music, and moved on to the one next to that. The door was still ajar slightly. He rapped his knuckles politely on the doorframe. "Can I come in?" he asked.

"Sure." The sweet lilt of his younger sister sounded from within.

Slipping inside, he smiled genuinely at the dark haired girl looking up at him from her book with hazel eyes quite similar to his, laying on her stomach with her chin on her crossed arms. They might have been mistaken for twins, if it were not for the fact that he had dark brown hair, while she had raven black.

Jinx Zabini was more than just a sister. While he loved the other two dearly –though he'd never admit it-, Jinx and he shared a bond that they could not even touch upon. She understood his need for solitude and could deal with his sudden silences that could sometimes span over more than three days. It felt, like now, when there was an emotional maelstrom leaving chaos is his usually so neatly organized mind, it helped to just sit with her. And though nothing of importance needed to have been said, afterward, he always felt better. Because underneath the small talk, without words of any kind, he could tell Jinx everything.

Calmly, he laid down next to her on his stomach, folded both his arms together on the squishy mattress and nestled his chin atop his forearms.

"So, how's school today?"

Slipping a bookmark adored with swirling patterns of entwined butter- and dragonflies –which was made especially for her by Alex- between the pages, Jinx answered somewhat tiredly, "Hectic."

Blaise nodded, but said nothing. His eyes were focused on one of the many candles that were flickering subtly in her room. The smell of lavender-scented incense filled his nostrils as he inhaled deeply.

Tilting her head so she could look at the expression on her brother's face, Jinx wondered what was going on behind those mysterious eyes of his. Blaise was not as easy to figure out as Datum was; the latter was a walking and talking open book, while the former was always surrounded by a savvy formal manner of dealing with his surroundings. It was hard to penetrate his securely up drawn guard, but she had seen his heart and had touched upon the core of his soul and could only hope that one day he would allow the rest of the world to see the quiet, yet passionate person that hid behind the stoic mask of her brother.

"What are you planning to do this weekend?" she asked softly, hoping to get some sort of response from him.

Blaise shrugged; an odd movement in his current position. "If the weather continues to suck, not much I'm afraid. Stupid Malfoy prick has gotten himself grounded again."

"Again, eh? I wonder what he hopes accomplish with that."

Her brother snorted, "He probably hopes his father gets a heart-attack or something… or kicks him out, so he has an excuse to live with us twenty-four seven."

"Do spare me." Jinx exclaimed, but not without a fond smile on her face, "I can't possible hope to survive his mood swings and bathroom clogging in the mornings."

They grinned at each other knowingly.

"I wonder what he does there all morning, then?" Jinx wondered and then after a pause, she suddenly pulled a scandalized face, "Forget it, I don't want to know."

Blaise laughed heartily at that, and rolled over on his back, his shirt riding up to his ribcage, revealing the toned plane of his stomach. "Actually, he sings."

"He what?" came her confused reaction.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, hazel hair spread out about him like a halo, "Sings. Draco likes to sing in the shower."

"You're kidding me!" his sister retorted, an unsure half-laugh static on her face.

"No, I'm not, really. If you get up early enough, when he thinks everybody's still asleep, you can sometimes hear him."

Blaise had caught him a few months ago, and, in one of his less immature moods, mercilessly teased him about it. Smirking, he noted that he should have a jab at it once more when he saw his friend again. Though, he figured, he was somewhat envious of him. Draco had a great voice, and when he sang on his own accord, the sound of his voice was even able to strike some unknown nerve in Blaise's body. He quite enjoyed hearing his friend sing, Draco had raw, somewhat hoarse tenor voice which could handle quite a few different styles of music.

Letting his long arms flop above his head and over the foot end of Jinx' bed, Blaise drew in an unsteady breath. Sometimes he hated Draco. Okay, perhaps not _hate_ him, but he sure begrudged the blonde more often than Blaise felt comfortable with. It just seemed that Draco had _everything_ he wanted, and could do everything he'd liked to be able to. Draco had this whole aura about him that drew girls to him like bees to honey. Or his biting sense of humor and his timing for sarcastic remarks. Or how he seemed to look _good _in just about anything he grabbed hold of in the clothing stores. He was smart, had a good taste, was undeniably handsome, and had something…someone that…

He rolled to his side, unconsciously curling up in a fetal position. _'You're being a fool, Blaise Zabini. You're just confused and tired, the feeling will pass."_ Blaise reprimanded himself inwardly,his voice echoing harshly in his mind, _"Besides, I'm sure Draco would very much want something I have, but has not.'_

"It will be okay." Jinx suddenly whispered, her voice much nearer than Blaise had thought it was, though the proximity didn't make him jump as it normally would have.

Hazel eyes fluttered open and were greeted by the warmth of an almost identical pair. Jinx regarded him with knowing eyes that seemed to be frozen forever to be locked with his. His sister had shifted onto her side, facing him and position quite similar to his, though more relaxed.

"How do you know it will be?" he said with a long, hard swallow.

A small, delicate hand crept up from where it had been laying with its twin in between their bodies. It reached his cheek, and Blaise noted how warm it felt, before it left his face to tuck a wayward chestnut strand of hair behind his ear.

"You don't." She answered.

A scowl twisted his attractive face, "I don't like not knowing." He muttered in a somewhat petulant fashion.

Jinx grinned at him, an eyebrow moving up in the typical Zabini-trademark arc. "I know you don't. But, live on the wild side of life for a change. Do something completely random, give in to your inner beast!" she crowed, rolling on to her back, and punching the air with a fist.

Propping himself up on an elbow, Blaise eyed her with an aloof expression firm on his face, "You sound like Darragh now. Inner beast, indeed."

Her arms feel slack again on the bed, one nearly whopping her brother over the head in its descent. "Not everything Darragh spouts around is a load of crap."

Just as he was about to comment on that a light knock on the door caught their attention. After a moment of expectant silence, Alex's head appeared from out of the hallway, long ropes of hair tumbling inside along with it, flapping gently with her movements. "Dinner's served." She announced and a smile danced in her big green eyes as they took in the sight of the two of them curled up like kittens on the overstuffed bed, almost drowning in the plump pillows that surrounded them.

--

Around approximately the same point of time that Friday evening, the rhythmic clicking if a knife slicing through various sorts of vegetables was all that could be heard in the small kitchenette of Remus Lupin's apartment, sometimes punctuated by soft sizzles when the he flipped the chicken around in the pan.

A pair of amber eyes once so often darted up from his preparation of the meal he was going to serve for his guests, to the other occupant of the kitchen, none other than his best friend's Godson. It had been quite some time since he had seen Harry, more than a year if he remembered correctly…. a lonely year for him that had been. Sirius and he had lived apart too far, and time that was needed to meet up more often was rare. Despite the many e-mails and phone calls that they frequently exchanged, Remus couldn't shake the fear that maybe in that gap of time, a breach had been allowed to form. Which would ruin the only the friendship with the person who he cared about most. He dared not to attach himself to others in the way he was tied to Sirius. Not after James. The possibility that one day he might lose Sirius, too, caused snakes to writhe painfully in his stomach. Remus had just avoided taking any more risk than necessary; he would not allow random persons to close to his heart, and risk it being broken twice. All he needed was Sirius.

Again, he glanced casually at the young man standing by his side. Harry had grown much over the time he hadn't seen him, though he was still lean of built. Black hair still shimmered in the faint lamplight like a raven's feathers, many out-of-bed like strands swooping down over his forehead unevenly, and the longest of them tickling the tip of his nose. Over that single year, his features seemed to have been elongated and trimmed with age, making a man out of him rather than a boy. The only thing that didn't seemed to have changed, save for having gained a glint of more ingenuity, were Harry's eyes, which were still of the same emerald green color which looked smaller than they were behind his round spectacles. His eyelashes were rather long and thick, as dark as his hair and had a very distinct curl to them. Brows were somewhat frowned as his hands automatically worked on shredding the salad, his inner thoughts seemingly off wandering and somewhat troubling him.

Blending in with the sounds of their actions on the background was the soft babbling of the telly. In the living room beyond, Remus was sure he would find Sirius draped somewhat ungracefully on his squashy couch, flipping methodically through the channels.

"So," Remus spoke up, "How did you like your first week of school here?"

The chunks of tomato smudged wetly against the inside of Harry's palm, nearly slithering from between his fingers as he scooped them together before depositing them in a bowl. "Turned out better than I hoped for." He admitted, and the image of his red haired friend's grinning face sprang into his mind.

"You seem to be getting along rather good with some of your classmates." Remus said, almost as if had read Harry's mind.

Harry poked the pasta with a fork, swirling the mass around in the boiling water for a moment before he fished one out. Twirling his utensil around and watching the long string steadily wrap around it, he replied," Yeah, I honestly didn't expect things to work themselves out so smoothly." And after an almost contemplative look, the fork disappeared between his lips.

A soft smiled curled the older man's lips, "Sirius had told me that you were quiet restless the advancing week before your removal. But you see, you didn't have to be so nervous, things turn out for the good sooner or later." Said Remus, offering a word of advice.

"Not always. Some things are permanent." Harry said softly, stirring the boiling water mindlessly.

"I know," he replied with a tremor in his voice, "I know."

For a moment, a pregnant silence settled between, as if unseen hands had draped a thick blanket over then, heavy on their shoulders. Harry, eyes seemingly glued to the furnace, took the pasta of the fire, finding it done, and with a wet 'splotch' turned it over into a screen above the sink. A big cloud of pasta-scented damp wafted out of it, making Harry blink against it and having to wipe his spectacles clear of the fogged damp.

"So," Remus spoke up, unknowingly commencing conversation exactly the same way as he had done a good ten minutes ago, "Who have you got for teachers? Except me obviously…" he asked, adding his own name on the list as an afterthought.

Harry shook the plastic punctured object with a swift, strong movement, causing the pasta to swipe up and turn around in the screen. "Well," he grunted, as he repeated the action, "I've got McGonagall for my most English & Literature classes."

"Ah, Minerva… She's a good teacher, Harry. Stern, but honest." Remus stated, apparently pleased with that notion.

Unsure of what Remus expected him to say, Harry gave a half-shrug, and went on, "Vector for mathematics –started ranting right on about God knows what, Sprout for Biology –she seems alright we didn't do much except for introductions and such, Hooch for PE –same as Sprout, only does she seem somewhat more… commanding, and uh," he paused, narrowing his eyes in thought, "Oh yeah, I've got Flitwick for my other English & Literature courses –very small guy, but seems to have a gentle spirit, Tonks for Art…" he trailed off.

Remus awaited patiently the question he felt coming.

"Why does that girl… Alex Ladon, I thought, why she does…eh" he faltered, not ashamed of what he should say, but not wanting to come over crude.

Flicking Harry a wry grin Remus easily caught on to the train of thought, "Pose as naked model in Art class?

Setting the screen down, Harry leaned against the fridge, crossing his arms loosely. He nodded calmly.

Contemplating about what he could tell the young man without breaching Miss Ladon's privacy, he said somewhat vaguely, "She has a special arrangement with Headmaster Dumbledore involving her studies, and her sacrificing two or three hours a week to model for beginner's Art class is an aspect of that."

Harry nodded again, understanding Remus' need not to go into details on the matter. Details, he admitted, he was curious to know, but was able to accept that it was entirely not his business.

Suddenly, Remus continued somewhat harshly, "And, _please_, Harry, don't go assuming all kinds of theories what that arrangement might be. I hardly doubt that Miss Ladon could use anymore gossip been flung at her, though I think your fellow peers have pushed the absurdness as far as it can go."

Startled green eyes started uncomprehendingly at Remus, "What do you mean?" he asked.

Halting the preparation of the meal for a moment, Remus rubbed at his forehead, feeling somewhat guilty for assuming that Harry, with his past, would even consider ridiculing a fellow peer. "Sorry that I…" he hesitated, then rephrased what he wanted to say, "Look, word has been going around that the arrangement Miss Ladon had with the Headmaster, besides posing as naked model for Art class, includes some sexual favors."

Harry looked faintly disgusted, "Are you serious? That sounds like a load of crap to me!"

"Of course it's a load of crap. But it seems to amuse the hell out of some of your school mates and even more specifically your year mates, despite their age." Said the brown haired man, the ire in his voice conveying how he felt about it.

Pushing himself away from the fridge and unfolding his arms, Harry took a step closer to the man, enabling him to lay a hand on his upper-arm, "C'mon Remus. You know that I wouldn't swallow their petty lies."

Still rubbing at his forehead, he replied, "I know Harry, I'm sorry for even considering it. But I've just gotten tired of having to land Mr. Malfoy in detention yet again after I've pulled him out of a fight."

Harry's face froze. "He fights… for her?"

Shaking his head with a snort, he said, "Oh yes, he sure does. A little too enthusiastically I might add. Don't worry, he's not the physical type of fighter generally, though it happens, but Mr. Malfoy has got a nasty mouth on him."

Not able to help himself, Harry was inclined not to agree with Remus. He found Malfoy's appealing lips far from nasty. On the other hand he assented that Malfoy just had to keep it_ shut_ in order to keep his mouth appealing. Harry had grown a strange fondness for a silent Draco Malfoy. Those seemed to be his _significantly lesser_ good moments.

"But you know Harry," Remus was saying, and startled a thought straying raven haired boy back to reality, "You could just try and ask her yourself. Alex really is a likeable kind of person, though somewhat odd."

A soft humming noise left Harry's throat, very much questioning the older man's words. He wasn't about to try and find out, anyway, and yet somewhere deep inside, many unasked questions were nearly choking him with curiosity.

Mind still heavy with the milling through of his musing, Harry was not quite taking notice of what was happening around him at the dinner table some minutes later. Even Sirius' muffled cry through a mouth full of chicken and pasta of 'This is good!' didn't really alert him, nor did the flecks of food that his Godfather generously sprayed across the table.

Not that Harry's godfather ever had been the one for social graces in the first place.

Remus, on his part, was watching Sirius rather closely and cocked a chestnut eyebrow at the display rather amusedly. Then again, Sirius always had been easily satisfied or entertained. Which was a quality that teacher had always appreciated in Sirius; he wasn't hard to please. Unless of course, and Sirius was apt to judge people rather quickly, he hadn't labeled a particular person into his 'good' section. Once you ended up in the 'bad' section into that handsome head of his, you could damn well do just anything to try and please him, but nothing would change his opinion. Sirius was quite stubborn in a way.

Unlike Severus Snape, yet another fellow peer of them in their time at Hogwarts, Remus had won himself a spot in Sirius heart, and while the raven haired man allowed many close to his core, Remus had always been privileged. As had James been… and still was. His childhood friend had always been supportive and fiercely protective when things got rough in school. Remus had been the quiet individual, the scholar, the know-it-all. Plus that back when he had got sick on quite a regular base, granted it occurred once a month and always during full moons. For a while James had gotten a rumor going that he had been a werewolf. It did help most people to leave him just in peace, but of course, Remus did not prefer that they did so because they were frightened of him. His two friends had just accepted him for who he was, though they poked good-natured fun at his studious attitude every once and then. They were there when others got rough on him, came to visit him when he was sick, and taught him basic self defense. Actually, it had been Sirius' right hook teaching that had landed one of the bullies a shiner.

Yes, Sirius Black had been quite the rebel when he had been younger, even ran away from home to live with the Potters because he couldn't stand to breathe the same air with his lewd and corrupted family. Had been promptly disowned for that, too.

After the Potters' death, Sirius had had to struggle to gain guardianship over Harry. In the end he had to get a successful job that would sustain both him and the young man. In the meanwhile, Harry was send to stay at the Dursleys, who, while disliking the child passionately, had been preying on his inheritance which involved an impressive amount of money. Sirius, almost as if crazed, had fought for Harry with everything he had, and had managed to stamp a garage out of the ground within a considerably short time span. Which he was still running now, and was one of the other reasons Harry and he had moved to Hogsmeade. Sirius had bought a bigger place to expand his business, while being able to move somewhere less expensive to live.

Remus was snapped out of his musing as Sirius waved a hand in front of his face. Ochre colored eyes met smiling blue ones. "Welcome back!" his friend greeted cheekily.

Smiling, he apologized, "Sorry, zoned out there for a moment."

"What had gotten you so deeply dragged away into that internal monologue of yours?" Sirius asked, leaning forward on the table on his elbows and cupping his head between his hands.

Remus waved dismissively at him, "Nothing in particular."

"Oh c'mon, is it such a big secret?" the handsome man pressed, giving him the famous disgruntled pout that made Remus always give in into whatever it might be Sirius wanted.

"I was just thinking about stuff." He answered plainly, knowing that the subject had been anything but classified, yet with Sirius pushing for answers he tried to evade it nonetheless.

"Give it up already," Sirius whispered, lowering his voice into a husky breath, "You were thinking about me. Not that I blame you."

Smirking, the teacher leaned back on his chair, crossing his arms nonchalantly with a secret smile on his lips. "I was, actually." Which left Sirius without witty comeback for the better part of a minute.

Regaining composure, Sirius shot back, though belatedly, "Can't blame you if you do, 'cause, hey, a good-looking guy like me, with great sense of humor, who is intelligent, wickedly charming… What can I say? I'm perfect."

Chewing his pasta silently, Harry rolled green eyes heavenward beneath the fringe of his hair.

"And still so very single." Remus provided gleefully between a bite of his meal.

Sirius harrumphed, "Well, I guess _we_ should do something about that, then."

The silence was deafening once he realized that once again his big mouth had gotten ahead of himself. Remus sat frozen in mid-bite, while Harry's twinkling eyes looked back and forth between the two, as if he was curious to see how he would solve his slip of the tongue.

"I-I mean…eh." He stuttered, groping for words to joke it away, "Well you know what I mean." And at that he stuffed his mouth with chicken and chewed it frantically, looking anywhere but at Remus.

Obviously forgotten, Harry squinted at them, wondering whether they were just blind and that he was the only one to see what was going on. And there _he_ was looking at people like Sirius for directions in his love life.

---

Title credits go Liquido – Narcotic.

This chapter has not yet been beta-ed!


	5. Smells Like Teen Spirit

**Disclaimer: **I do_ not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Chapter Five – Smells Like Teen Spirit**

"_Well, he is supposed to be your soul mate." –Datum Zabini_

It was a surprisingly sweltry Wednesday morning when Harry and Ron walked side to side towards the changing rooms for their second PE lesson of the school year. During the first lesson, after basic rules and arrangements, the do's and don'ts, it hadn't been really worth the trouble to decide on what they could do for the meager remainder of their two hours of physical exercise lesson.

"What'd you suppose we'll be doing?" Harry asked his red haired friend.

Shoulders broader than those of the emerald eyes youth's rose and fell in a loose shrug, "I think she'll let us run a few laps first, then some ball game or something."

Aside from his already packed with sport-oriented courses schedule, Ron had opted for an additional two hours of regular PE with his friends. Hermione never did understand him in his contrary ways; at school he didn't desire more than just doing his Major Sport courses, which were though and demanding, yet in any other class he'd fall promptly asleep. After school he couldn't be dragged up from his lazy ass to do anything, except if they went to the court.

The court of was the little square near the local park at _Everlind's_ and when bored, it was most likely that if you went there, you would find one of your friends. During the summer Ron had spent a good deal of his time there, arriving there somewhere around midday, mostly finding Seamus or someone else already there. The proximity of the park was really convenient; because at the heath of the day, the friends usually lazed around in the fresh green grass under the shadowy silhouette of the trees. Other times they'd initiate a ballgame, mostly basket ball or some improvised hockey without skates. In the evening they spend hours into the night at _Everlind's_, where the spirits rose after each hour that passed, and you could be sure to encounter good company there.

Ron splayed his hand wide on the door and pushed it ajar. As they entered the small gray-tiled room in which the air was heavy with the sting of sweat, Harry's eyes immediately veered to the ground. Most of their classmates were already there, halfway through the routine of changing into their gym outfits. Ron led them to one of the wooden benches, tossing his gym bag carelessly on top of it. Sitting down between the redhead and Finbar, Harry began loosening the knot he had tied in his bag and fished out his t-shirt and black jogging pants. The whole time his eyes had been anchored solely on either the ground or on his actions.

Two minutes later he was standing upright, just having slipped on his pants, and was tying the draw string pants tight around his narrow waist; his subtle abs twitching in response to his movements, to his right, Ron, Dean and Neville were consumed by a fit of hiccupping laughter at one of Seamus' jokes. Harry hadn't even been paying attention enough to catch it and thus remained quiet, never even once looking up.

Suddenly a strong, warm hand cupped his shoulder. Harry held his breath as Finbar gave him a worried one-over. "You're awfully quiet…"

Admitting defeat, Harry finished the knot, crossed his arms loosely and turned to face him. It was worse than he'd anticipated: Finbar was in the same state of undress, wearing his gym pants, but bare-chested. Harry felt his cheeks heat up almost unbearably when his shimmering green eyes took in the six foot tall frame of his companion, surprisingly lean, yet more muscled than any other his age. Everything was perfectly defined, his abdominals, his pectorals, his arms, powerful muscles flexing under the slightly tanned skin, his broad chest rising and falling with each calm intake of breath and even from the respectful distance the other was standing, Harry could smell his manly musk, which seemed as velvety deep as the owner's voice, yet clean and fresh.

Harry glared at him half-heartedly, "Did you really have to?"

Finbar's dark eyebrows winged up in surprise. His phantom blue eyes fastened non-comprehending on his for a moment and a few seconds passed in silence. Then understanding dawned on his handsome face and he removed his hand at once, not in a disgusted fashion, but in a way that suggested that he'd forgotten, "Oh mate, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to…well…whatever."

"There goes my neutral way of having to look at you every day." He chided him, faking annoyed sneer on his face.

"You can't possibly have believed that this could be avoided a whole year?" Finbar retorted, as he continued with what he had been doing; raising his arms to tie back his thick dark hair in a loose ponytail, allowing him maximal potency of his vision.

Meanwhile, Harry slipped a t-shirt over his head, and when his head popped out, dark hair fluffed up in its own maximal state of unruliness. "Yeah, but you had to go ahead and ruin it from the second week."

Finbar could be seen grinning at that, before he disappeared momentary in his midnight blue t-shirt, which had quite appropriately written 'Therapy has taught me that nothing is my fault' across it.

Harry could do nothing but roll his eyes and give him a playful shove when Finbar pointed demonstratively at it.

They left the changing rooms in a noisy group, with Harry walking in the back next to Finbar and witnessed an abrupt change in vitality in Ron's attitude. He could be seen jogging and jumping this way and that, as if he was eager to stretch his legs in a swift sprint. Unlike Harry and Finbar and a few others, the rest was wearing knee-long shorts and thus Harry could see the blocked muscles in the redhead's lower legs. They walked up to where a group of students had huddled on the track ring around their teacher.

Harry wasn't surprised to see Draco and Blaise standing a little ways off to the side of the main crowd, which consisted of males only except for a beautiful Chinese girl with sleek black hair trailing down her back in a high ponytail, and Alex.

Examining his surroundings interestedly, Harry heard their PE teacher - ironically enough a woman for the boy's group - checking their names on the register. Hooch was a stern and curt woman, with short, gray hair and almost yellowish, rather hawk-like eyes. She was somewhat intimidating, but that was more than necessary in such a large group dominated by young hormone-driven males. Normally, their PE classes were split: a boys group under surveillance of Madame Hooch and a girls group with another teacher. Yet that did not rule out that the girls who preferred more intensive lessons and, of course, could handle them, were allowed to join them.

"Everyone's here… good." An authoritarian voice spoke up clearly above the chatter. "Well, last lesson didn't count for one, so let's see how vacation has been to your condition."

Part of the students grinned knowingly, already familiar with her teaching habits yet others groaned softly, expecting the worst. Most of them had had her last year, and though a female, Hooch didn't handle them any different than a male teacher would. If not, she seemed somewhat more rough and demanding.

"Four laps for starters," she announced, and when the group did not react very enthusiastic, Hooch added with extra bark, "C'mon, you should've been halfway already!"

Harry, who had barely taking his first steps, was looking around vaguely confused for Ron. It seemed that the redhead was a swift and eager as he'd appeared and had already sped off for his first lap, leaving the rest of the group in the dust.

"There he goes," Dean commented dryly as he jogged up next to him.

"Aye, I think he likes rubbing our noses in it," Seamus added, flanking Harry on his other side, "bloody knows he can outrun all of us."

Nodding, Harry watched him go, flying over the track with apparently fleeting steps. Though, he now noticed, he was being followed closely in his wake by a small dreadlocked figure. "Ladon doesn't seem to be doing so bad." He commented, slightly impressed.

Dean hummed at that, "Yeah, she always second bests him, which is quite a feat for a girl."

They set up a moderate pace for the time being and though Harry could turn it up a notch, Dean and Seamus didn't seem to have done much of physical exercise over the summer holidays.

Slightly ahead of him, he was surprised to see Finbar running in company of none other than Draco Malfoy and Zabini. At closer inspection though, it seemed that he was conversing only with Zabini, and the blonde was left tagging along in stubborn silence. Belatedly, Harry now remembered that Zabini was Finbar's cousin, which was probably why Draco had not yet pounced him for breaching their privacy.

No sooner than he had finished that thought, Malfoy picked up his pace, and shot ahead of them. Zabini could be seen waving Finbar's worried grimace away and say something that made the tattooed youth laugh.

The trio kept there pace up for a whole three laps, but then, for the fourth and last round, everybody picked up their speed. Harry, knowing that the Irish man and the afro-American would not hold it against him, shot forward and ahead of them. Evening out his breathing, heartbeat pounding between his ears and the cadence of his soles grinding on the turf blocked out everything else as his legs carried him lithely towards his destination.

For two minutes his surroundings rushed past him in a cool haze, until he rounded the last bend and abruptly found himself sprinting the last length next to Malfoy. Only the light touches of their feet on the track were heard as they threw their last effort into it, digging up everything they had. Glancing sideways, Harry was just in time to witness a muscle jump on Malfoy's jaw, before his adversary used his advantage of longer legs against him, and gained more speed.

'No more than a hundred meters' Harry told himself, and clenched his jaw, almost closed his eyes and urged his muscles to transcend their limits and go even faster. He could not quite explain to himself exactly _why_ he needed to triumph over Malfoy in this standard warming-up session. But he just _had_ to; he just needed, wanted, and had to beat Malfoy at it.

Furiously they spurted alongside each other, their breathing raspy between their bared teeth, both having surpassed their limits in effort to win their little competition. But it was Harry, if only by a step, that flew over the finishing line first.

Sagging over, Harry leaned heavily on his knees, his breathing so laborious that Ron, who had finished half a round ahead of him, came to check up on him.

"Way to go Harry!" he beamed at the raven haired youth, after confirming he wasn't having a fit, "You totally kicked his ugly arse!"

He could barely nod at that, and continued to gulp in large intakes of breath.

Finbar was the next one that finished his laps, and though his breathing was roughened up, too, he didn't seem at all that drained. "A little competitive, aren't we?" he quipped, giving Harry a pat on his shoulder.

Eventually he found it in himself again to straighten up, his head swimming with the surge of blood. Not so far from him, Malfoy was leaning on the iron guardrail that lined the track course, stretching.

He spied with narrowing green eyes how the blonde's slender frame heaved with every intake of breath, the sleek muscles visibly expanding and subtracting under the thin –and faithfully black- cotton shirt, moving accordingly to adapt to the demand for more oxygen. Alex was perched on top of the iron rail, closely next to where he had pressed his forehead against it, perfectly balanced, eying him in an amused fashion. Then, with tightening jaw, he noted how Malfoy momentarily rested his forehead on Alex's upper leg, the latter patting his hair.

How a mismatched couple the two of them had appeared on first sight, Harry had through the first week and half seen that somehow they complemented each other's personality. Not that he had actually been looking for it, of course, not that he cared how well their relationship was going.

Ladon was outfitted in simply loose black sweatpants, and in equally dark spaghetti strapped tank top from under which the material of her much-needed supportive bra could be seen peeking at her bronzed shoulders. Her bundle of white dreadlocks were kept together in a thick braid, shorter knots tumbling wildly around her oval shaped face. Unlike her, the other girl of their group, Cho Chang, had chosen for tight white shorts, a violet short-sleeved blouse and matching violet sneakers.

It seemed that at Hogwarts one could find all kinds of different people, with diverse kinds of social backgrounds and even more distinctly varying personal opinions and interests.

Back in London his classmates and he had made a tightly knotted group, most of them having stuck together from when younger, it just seemed to click. While not being overly social, Harry had been able to say that he quite a few more 'real friends' than the average person had. Besides his childhood friend –and while thinking of him Harry received a pang of loss- there were a lot of mates he could have turned to with his inner conflicts and secrets, and be at peace of mind, knowing that they'd never blab it around.

Here things seemed to be driven by a whole assembly of the most ridiculous and half-baked rules and structures. It had been explicit from day one that there are two separate groups vying to take the concurrency out while others were just stuck in the middle. For a seventh year it was pretty sad. The dominant group was currently led by Parkinson, the same disgustingly perfect girl that had nearly made Harry's brain implode on day one with her awful chatter. He had already decided that he should stay far, far away from her.

Initially he had automatically concluded that Malfoy and company had been part of the approved proverbial bible of popularity, yet it was becoming clear to Harry that his circle of friends was narrowed down to Zabini and Ladon, with exception of the solitary Theodore Nott. Zabini and Ladon on their part were tied through Finbar to Ron's social circle, so they overlapped and entangled in a way that Malfoy's place in the school society was closer to theirs than it was to Parkinson's. Looking at it from that angle, Harry admitted to himself, he was glad for that, making it easier to live with himself instead of being attracted to a jock. Though an all-out bastard, it seemed that Draco was more than just looks, and while a foul one, he did have a distinguishing personality, contradictory to Parkinson's carefully adapted behavior to please all that she favored to have on her side.

It suddenly struck Harry that the situation somewhat sounded like an American high school soap series. He was grateful that with Ron he was safe from that all-consuming cliché; with Parkinson and her wanna-be cheerleading squad being completely anti-Weasley.

Once again having gone off to the land of fairies, or rather his habit of analyzing his surroundings, Harry was startled rather violently when Hooch' sharp bark resounded over the track course.

"-ing basketball, then!" was the tail Harry manage to catch.

Basketball was fine with him, he had practiced the sport back in London and was a rather adept player, even if he said so himself.

Standing somewhat apart from the group, Alex and Draco were thinking among the same lines, basketball having been their main pastime over summer. Blaise was regarding the whole display with a look of carefully schooled disinterest on his fetching face.

Hooch went on, "Alright, two teams. Leaders will be…" trailing of ominously, she swept her hawkish stare through the assembled students. She wanted two youngsters from who she knew they'd play up against each other 'till the bitter end. In the end, the choice was easy, "Ronald Weasley and Draco Malfoy."

The immediate reactions of most students were low groans and disgruntled mutters. Most of them were out of breath and energy already, and with the sizzling sun beating down upon their bodies, the group was not very keen on waging a virtual battle on the heath-radiating asphalt.

"Predictable." Dean mumbled more to himself, and crossed his dark skinned arms loosely.

Side by side, backs straights and jaws set, Ron and Malfoy stalked up to where Hooch was standing. As their lined of sight crossed, electricity could almost be seen sparking from the collision. Just before veering to the left, Draco shouldered Ron sharply and hissed lowly, "Say your prayers Weasel-bee" and took a place next to their instructor. If Hooch had witnessed or heard the exchange, then her unresponsiveness was her silent approval. She probably wanted them to push their limits, within the borders of fair play, of course.

"Mr.Weasley, you go ahead and start."

Almost instinctively, Ron opened his mouth and Harry's or Seamus' name were about to tumble of his lips when he caught himself, his mouth snapping shut abruptly. Blue eyes darted sideways to Malfoy. Ron hadn't been attending Hogwarts this long without learning something about his nemesis, his specializing in Sports, thus having learned to be weary of the opponent's weak and strong points and use them to his advantage, only accounted to his decision.

"Alex!" he said confidently. He would not allow the couple to pair up, aware that together they could mow whatever team he had over. Being alone as a strong player in a team sport was evidently not enough to win the game. Choosing Alex could be signing his own defeat, it was very possible that she'd not cooperate. At least they'd not be crushed immediately with those two set apart.

The dread-haired artist, previously engaged in a whispered conversation with Blaise, paused mid-sentence in her surprise, syllables still stuck in her throat. She looked at her friend's face to confirm she'd heard right, at which he twitched a dark brown eyebrow. Then, with a shrug, Alex pushed her way to the front, emerging from the tall formed young men as if they were a forest of ancient trees compared to her unimpressive height and went to stand with Ron Weasley. A tentative grin was her greet, somewhat unsure of his abrupt change in team-selection.

Draco had Weasley pinned with a vile look that clearly demanded what he was playing at, contempt riddling his fair features. He had not counted on Weasley having a burst of intelligence, as a matter a fact; he hadn't known that Weasley was capable of having some form of useful brain activity. Nevertheless, two could play at that game.

"Potter." he sneered haughtily.

Mentioned ebony haired youth froze on the spot, absolutely still as he blinked owlishly at Malfoy, convinced he had misheard.

"Potter, _today_, if you please?" the blonde repeated in an overly-sarcastic fashion.

Harry spat out a sigh in an exasperated hiss, and strode over to his 'team-mate', the concept awkward in his mind. When standing next to him, Harry raised his eyebrows inquisitively at the rakishly handsome youth.

Looking at Malfoy with all the malice he could muster, Ron raised himself up and his jaw tightened perceptively. Determination glinted in his blue eyes, promising himself that he would take Malfoy down, whatever it may cost. This was on!

"Seamus!" he called out and the sandy haired Irish lad moved accordingly to his side.

"Blaise." Draco spoke calmly, with an inclination of his head when his gray eyes met the hazel ones of his friend for a second.

"Finbar!"

"Thomas." The blonde said in a commanding tone and Dean grudgingly walked up to him, knowing that any form of protest would be a waste of breath, and went to stand defiantly next to Harry. The two new friends shared a small grin.

"Michael!" said Ron.

"Chang."

"Anthony."

"Macmillan." Draco finished, having selected the sixth and final member for his team.

A tight smile barely plied the lips of the PE teacher as she critically observed the unlikely combination of team mates. At least it would be interesting to see how they reacted in this sort of situation. Six to six, alright! I want a clean and fair game, _all of you_," she said, but happened to be eyeing Ron and Draco meaningfully instead.

The stormy eyed youth first looked at her with feigned and bewildered innocence, before letting a carnivorous grin creep up his face. Ron just had a sour look on his face.

A good two and half hours later Hermione Granger found herself sitting cross-legged in the short-trimmed grass alongside the basketball court which was situated on the vast expanse of grounds that the surrounded their castle-like school building. The weather was still as pressing and suffocating hot as it had been during the morning classes, if anything; it seemed to have gotten even more unbearable than it had been.

She was wearing, accordingly to the weather, a periwinkle-blue skirt of floaty material that reached to the ground, with, in a shade of darker blue, a modest button-up blouse on it. With her curly bush of hair loose and occasionally lingering on a stray breeze made her look like feary creature that had accidentally crossed over to the mortal plane.

If Ron had not been so caught up in the war of the game, he would have gotten butterflies all over again in his stomach, but he could not afford himself the distraction. Most boys, he being one of them, had simply discarded their t-shirts, the garments only serving as extra nuisance in this stage. In spite of the extreme temperature, the game had waged on intensely, even after the last bell for their free Wednesday afternoon had resounded.

Hermione, having planned to go with Ron after school, had simply volunteered for the responsibility of locking up the changing rooms and returning the keys to Hooch next thing in the morning. Though there was a heavy book in her lap, she could not help herself and found her attention more than once deviating to the sinewy and fit body of her boyfriend. Though still tall and somewhat lanky, he was very easy to the eye, and his fiery red hair only set him apart even more so from the main crowd. There was a subtle sheen of perspiration on his torso and forehead which making him gleam with every movement he made. If Ron weren't so thick-headed, he might have caught on to her subtle hints concerning the rather static stage of their relationship. But, no, not Ronald Weasley, he still couldn't get over the fact that he got to hold her hand and kiss her in public.

A fond smile reached Hermione's lips, and she shook her head, trying to tear her gaze away from the enticing sight, but not quite able to.

Meanwhile Draco found himself bereft of having Alex by his side, not being able to count on her to move with him as one. Their mutual trust and belief in one other made them invincible, where the one would fail, the other would succeed. Now his only trusty comrade was Blaise, the normally so silent hazel eyed youth standing out in speed and a sharp accuracy. Not so very long ago, a year and a half perhaps, he would have relied on the foul-play of the two intellectually under-evolved meatheads Crabbe and Goyle. With their sheer size they blocked half the field without having actually intending to do it, and were even better in delivering dirty blows and kicks.

But, after a rocky and hesitant start, with both teams being so unusually composed, they had gotten matched up against each other and were still hoping for that one lucky shot that would mean an advantage over the other, with their being equal at the moment.

Ron's team had hit of much favorable than Malfoy's, save for Ladon, he was used playing with these people. Especially Seamus and Finbar had been team members he engaged quite often with in sport. But, quite surprisingly, he learned that he could count on Alex, who seemed to go against her boyfriend's team full force. He was starting to get convinced of her mutual willingness and determination to win this game.

In another attempt of having a go at the final outcome of the match, Draco sped towards the net in a beeline, past Cho and Ernie with eye-opening speed and dexterity, and could almost taste sweet victory on his tongue when a very annoying presence stopped efficiently his passage. Alex feigned a look of complete angelic innocence as she blocked every move he made for slipping through.

Draco glowered at her, aware that she was using her knowledge in his techniques against him. "You little traitor…" he muttered, but was pleasantly surprised in her cunning.

"Bitch." She shot back easily, and made a swift move for the ball.

Barely he managed to keep his hold on the ball and as he moved to spin around and move out of reach, he was confronted by a dark tribal tattooed neck and jaw, belonging to Finbar. In less stressful conditions he would have wondered why the raw attractive man did not remove his shirt and give Draco at least _something_ to like about him. Nevertheless, Draco's mind was till on the game and he was currently considering if it was worth barging rather violently over Alex as revenge. But help was already on its way.

Though in the form of the bespectacled new friend of Weasley, Harry Potter had come to his aid.

"Malfoy!" he called out and Draco noted that his breathing was still even and controlled.

Without thinking twice, he jumped up, using his height over Alex's lack thereof and threw the ball into Harry's waiting hands. As he watched Harry speeding of with the ball, he had to admit that Potter had somehow accomplished in filling up for the absence of Alex's skills.

Brown eyes still fastened on the spectacle and the increasing tension, Hermione hardly heard someone approaching her.

"They still not giving up, are they?" Ginny questioned, sinking to the ground next to her.

Hermione shook her head in a grim negative, "Not until one of them scores, that is."

Ginny had not come alone, and was accompanied by Luna Lovegood, the eccentric straggly blonde haired girl, Darragh Ganad, Finbar's honey eyed younger brother, Jinx Zabini, dark haired and observing as always, Nathaniël Blueskye, or simply 'North' a long braided youth and finally Darragh's lover, Orion Zayin, a blonde youth with blue eyes so dark that they were nearly obsidian. The six of them together formed in a way a sub-clique from theirs, with Ginny and Darragh being younger siblings and Jinx forming an indirect contact with Malfoy's circle of friends. Quite complicated in the beginning, but with some practice it was all rather evident.

Perching his hands on his hips, Darragh glared at the figure of his older brother. "Damn it, I really need money. How long is he going to keep this up?"

Though a rhetorical question, it remembered Hermione they had agreed that in case of no change in the score, the match would 'officially' end at quarter to one. She hopefully glanced at her wristwatch.

"Two more minutes!" Hermione shouted, glad it would soon now. Boys could be so stubborn.

Smirking widely and dribbling lazily, feeling the cadence of rubber on pavement, Draco once again slipped by Michael's defense, taking advantage on the tiring team. He breached through quite easily now, and glided through weak spots and open space towards the net. Adrenaline coursed feverishly through his veins when he leapt for the net...but suddenly he roughly blocked by Alex yet again. Through clenched teeth, she grinned at him, ready to claim the ball hers and willing her sore body to cooperate.

It seemed that time had suddenly took of in flight, because Hermione was already counting down from ten.

"Ten!" Hermione called loudly, "nine!"

_Fuck. _Ran through Draco's numbed brain and he veered sharply out of her reach but, but however he twisted and struggled, there seemed to be now way he could get past her.

"Seven!"

Alex's bronze hand swiped out again, and was almost able to smack it out of his grip. Draco cursed harshly.

"Five!"

Unexpectedly the sound of sneakers skidding to a stop caught his attention. When the other called "Draco!" he could do nothing but blindly pass it to the voice. Alex made a desperate leap for it, missed, and spat out a colorful curse.

"Two!"

The unnatural twisting of his body with that last throw made him stumble to one knee. He had barely winced in pain as the skin scraped off on the raw pavement, when he had to whirl his head around in sheer panic as Hermione called the definite "One."

And saw Harry slip the ball through the net in time.

"End of gaaamee!" Hermione called out and blew the whistle. She was standing up now, having done so unconsciously during those last moments. When she removed the object from her lips, there was a look akin to disbelief etched onto her features.

They'd won, that was all that mattered and with a roar Draco pulled himself to his feet, ignoring she sharp sting in his knee and his protesting muscles. Head thrown back and arms stretched to the skies he stood there, suspended in the sweet euphoria of their unexpected victory. The next moment he was moving again, grabbing the young man that had been his salvation into his embrace by slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. Dean had joined in the next moment; too, clinging to Harry and repeatedly ruffling through his hair, and even the stoic Blaise Zabini gave him a rather powerful pat on the back, one that belied his slender appearance. For a few bitterly sweet moments their determination to win the match had bounded them in a way only such an experience could, even between individuals who would never allow this to happen under normal circumstances.

And then, all of a sudden, time slowed down and froze. Draco found himself standing behind Harry, with an arm around the latter's waist. The t-shirt the youth had been wearing had hitched up, and thus was Draco's lower arm exposed to the sheer heath and firmness from the plane of the other's stomach. At the moment, Harry was still unaware of this compromising position, and was laughing loudly with Ernie. His mouth was close to Harry's ear, and tresses of ebony brushed against his nose, and he thought he could perceive the fresh scent of a summer rainstorm, a promise of freedom.

Next there were green eyes. Eyes that were so open and full of emotion and yet with a whole mysterious depth that he had never experienced before. It was then that he realized that Harry had twisted around in his grip and stumbled upon his unresponsive body.

On Harry's part it went quite differently, the one moment Ernie was shouting and laughing at him, and when he turned around he had quite literally run into Draco's chest. Somehow the other had gotten so close that a drop of sweat on the other's sharply defined jaw line was within tongue-reach. And Harry could only wonder how he would taste. It took a heartbeat or two, but the rest of his brain finally caught up with that thought and roughly demanded to know what on earth he had been thinking while it was away. He let out an entirely undignified noise and franticly tried to get Draco _off_ him.

That and the fact they were particularly _hugging_ each other in a much-more-than-healthy-friendly-way, but above all that they were _supposed_ to be enemies made them spring apart as if burned.

"Bloody hell, Potter, get a hold of yourself!" the stinging remark was out before he could stop himself, his defense-mechanism for emotional vulnerable situations coming forth.

Harry did not say anything and had shielded his face beneath a shock of jet-black hair before there was an expression evident on his face. He nearly tripped clumsily over his shoelaces as he retreated towards the changing rooms.

The skin on Draco's arm and the tip of his nose tingled heatedly, as if a part from Harry clung to him still. His gray eyes watched the retreating back, and for the first time towards any other person than Alex or Blaise, he felt regret that he had lashed out. There was no satisfaction with Potter's sudden departure after his painful remark, only a seemingly empty niche that had somehow wedged itself in his heart.

"Is it me or was there a little tension there, just now?" a raw female voice unexpectedly whispered from besides him.

He nearly jumped out of his skin. Of course it added only to his increasing ire when he found –quite predictably- Alex smirking deviously up at him.

"Don't go creeping up at me; I hate it when you do that." He half-heartedly snapped at her, and crossed his long arms defensively across his chest.

Alex wrapped an arm around his shoulders, which took more of an effort that it sounded -because he was easily a head bigger than her-, tugged at him, forcing him to lean over so that were almost face to face, "Oh no you don't, no changing the subject."

"There is no subject!" he bit out from between clenched teeth, and shrugged her arm of angrily, "And will you damn well just get lost for a moment, so I can go and change?" having said that, he stalked with up drawn shoulders and balled fists towards the changing rooms.

Rubbing her chin in a retrospective manner, she muttered quietly to herself, "Oh yes, definitely tension there."

As Draco stormed into the room he pushed open the swing door with such force that it slammed against the wall inside and rebounded off it. Of course, most of occupants muttered indignantly, commenting on his need to make a grand entrance again. Eyes locked to the ground he pushed himself roughly through the half-naked bodies of his year mates, very much willing his body not to react. Of course, his body, being a traitorous extension of his soul, did not cooperate. _Think no sexy thoughts, Draco. _He said to himself inwardly, _Like bicycles. Bicycles are not sexy. Or socks. Socks are definitely not sexy. Sandwich. Sandwiches are not arousing. Cherries… cherries are… damn, definitely sexy. I wonder who can tie a knot in a cherry stem with his tongue here? I wonder if Potter… _he let out an entirely frustrated hiss and halted at the bench he and Blaise sat, _I don't care about that. I don't give a fuck. None at all._

Blaise, who had just made a request for what they could do after school, was eyeing his blonde haired friend wearily. His cheeks had a rather suspicious pink tinge to them, and that could be either accounted to having sunburn or having inner struggle versus his libido.

"Think Pansy, Draco, think Pansy…" he advised, referring to an event that had included the girl drunk and without a bra, evidently traumatizing Draco for life.

Involuntary he winced, his lips curling in disgust, all thoughts of un-sexy objects which were sexy vanishing within a heartbeat "Thanks…I guess." He said dolefully.

Further conversation was interrupted by a rather familiar voice carrying above the general noise, a voice he immediately registered that didn't really belong here.

"Come on!" a fully clothed individual was complaining to his older brother, who was still halfway through pulling his used t-shirt over his head.

"Forget it." Came the muffled rumbling reply from Finbar. "Besides, get out of here. Go wait outside or something."

Darragh's golden eyes narrowed to slits and he advanced a step instead of being wise and retreating. "I'll pay you back, I promise!"

The t-shirt came over a raven haired head, and the currently loose tresses were wildly arranged around his face. In a split-moment, he had seemed to have gone through a personality twist. Finbar's normally so kind and mysterious wolfish blue eyes became hard and aggressive when he jabbed an accusing finger at his brother. "Like fuck I care whether you give it back or not. I'm not making the same mistake again, not after last time."

"What happened between us was _not wrong_! And damn it, stop using that against me! It wasn't like we planned it." Darragh snarled back at him, "I can take care of myself! I don't need you to look out for me! I'm old enough!"

Finbar, who had been harshly rummaging through the piles of mixed clothing articles gathered on the bench, suddenly rounded on his younger brother, "Well fine, go ahead and see if I care. But don't be coming back to me when you fuck up again! I'm not going through that again, not if I can prevent it!" apparently he was not quite aware that he had just contradicted himself, but the emotion in his baritone voice spoke the depths of his will to protect his brother.

The other froze; apparently his anger had just cracked under awareness that Finbar was just devotedly trying to keep his heart from breaking twice. His shoulders sagged and an almost painful grimace twisted his lips and eyebrows.

For a moment they just looked at each other mutely, Finbar previously tightened up muscles relaxing again, the air of a predator evaporating, and the storm in his blue eyes passing. Darragh cast a fugitive glance, looking up through his long, overgrown bangs to meet his eyes.

Finbar looked calmly at him. He had that one light crease in his brow that he reserved especially for his younger brother. It was always present during these little confrontations, and nobody had ever seen it under any other circumstances. Suddenly he dug into his schoolbag, and when his hand re-emerged it was holding his wallet, "Look, here, just don't…" he mumbled, pushing an amount of money in his hand. "Just don't waste it on pointless things, okay? Go to the movies or something."

With the bills in his hand, Darragh shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, suddenly aware that they had caused quite a scene in front almost the half of his brother's PE class. "You sure? I didn't want to…"

"Forget it, kid." Finbar said, and he gave fond ruffle through the other's chestnut colored hair. "Now scram."

With boyish grin back in place, the golden eyed youth darted out of the changing rooms.

"And no hanky-panky!" Finbar shouted after Darragh as the door swung shut behind him with a loud bang.

Gaze diverted to the direction his younger sibling had just gone, Finbar just stood there for a moment, clean shirt clutched in his hand, wallet in the other, but not making a move to put either of the two items so a use.

Harry, who had been standing directly besides him during conflict, was rather shell-shocked. Though he surely appeared intimidating to him on the first impression, over the past week he had been unperturbed by it, with Finbar being so attentive to the moods of his friends and his calm appearance. And then he suddenly went ahead and virtually combusted on the spot. An angry Finbar was a scary Finbar.

It seemed that he was not the first one who was new to this positively eerie swap of demeanor. Ron's face was as struck as his, warm blue eyes wide-open and jaw hanging slack in astonishment. Harry hoped that it meant that these things did not happen often.

"Mate, you're waaaay over-protective." Was Seamus' comment on that, "But I mean like waaay waaay."

Raising his arms as he shrugged on his t-shirt, Harry, standing right behind him, had a clear view of three, deep, angry red scars running between his powerful shoulder blades. But before he had a good look at them, the fabric of the t-shirt slid down his back and hid it from his curious eyes.

"I've got my reasons." Finbar mumbled, seemingly more to himself than as an answer to Seamus' statement.

"More like issues," Draco commented snidely as he came past them, "Looks like somebody skipped anger management class."

"Shut the trap Malfoy, shut the trap." Dean said in an overly annoying calm tone, as if he were talking to an annoying, spoiled child.

Something Harry entirely agreed on, it was a tone that the blonde prick deserved. He was just finishing up with stomping his used and damp clothes in his gym bag, very much wanting to go home and enjoy a shower.

Draco rolled icy blue eyes and flipped Dean off. Following behind was the lean, feline frame of Zabini, whose lips twitched at the predictable gesture, his brown amber eyes dancing with amusement. He disappeared after his friend through the door, which swung back and forth noisily in their wake.

Zabini, Harry decided, was not an inferior tag-along of Malfoy's, who followed him around just because he wanted to be on the blonde's good side. While actually rather often trailing in the other's footsteps, it was clear that it was entirely on his ambition, accompanying Draco because he was a true friend and had the remarkable patience of bearing with the other's volatile temper.

When they left the changing rooms soon after them, Harry came to the conclusion that he had tumbled in a social environment with quite many attractive people. Especially to him, as they, without being physically flawless, all had that x-factor about them. He prayed it wouldn't interfere with their interaction and their friendships, but if he would not watch himself it was going to be hard to keep his head clear. An advantage was that Malfoy, who kept giving him bolts of electricity through his stomach, was not one of his new friends. It would be very tough to keep his intentions to himself.

It was only that he realized that _earlier_, when Malfoy was holding him almost carefully, engulfing him nevertheless with his narrow build, that Harry, for only a fraction of second, felt completely comforted by his presence, while ignoring a flame of lust licking along his stomach. It was a stunning realization, because frankly, he found the blonde a down-right bastard, but there had been something, _something there_. Somewhere in his eyes perhaps, eyes who he had thought to be as sharp as the edge of a knife, and instead turned out to have flecks of passionate bright blue in them. As if beneath the surface something was waiting to be recognized and welcomed, like the sun bursting in brilliant rays through threatening clouds. Perhaps it had been in his scent, which had been, very strong then cause of the perspiration. With his face so close to the curve of his neck he had been filled by it, his smell an incredible, masculine yet fresh something, with a distinct tinge of coffee mixed in.

He was most grateful when Ron spoke up; leading his thoughts away from the dangerous path they had set foot upon.

"So, you still up for that race?" he asked, flicking the x-box game 'Burnout' under his nose. It was casually mentioned, but the waver of uncertainty in his blue eyes made known that Ron was still unsure of closely in his personal life Harry truly tolerated him.

A challenging grin and a cocked eyebrow were his response, "Not scared of losing now, are you?" he said.

"Oh, puh-lease," Ron answered with a fake scathing scoff, "I could whip your scrawny ass anytime four-eyes!"

Harry gave him a playful shove, "Ah, Ron, you wound me," he said in a dramatically sobbing tone, brushing away an imaginary tear on his cheek. Then he slowly let the pout mutate in a rather wicked smirk, "No whipping my ass before I've got to whip yours."

For a moment Ron seemed unsure of how to react on that, but seeing Harry's mischievous twinkle made him grab him under his arm, "Is that a promise?" he breathed into his face.

"Get a room!" Dean shouted, but was smiling at the whole display.

Harry and Ron burst out in merry laughter.

--

"This one's alright," Blaise murmured, his voice thick with laziness as he laid there on his stomach, chin nestled upon his crossed forearms.

Draco, position similar to his friend's, but with his upper-body tilted as he had balanced his elbows on the downy mattress so he could rest his head in his hands, he nodded slowly. "It's not bad," he consented, "but I find the angle rather plain."

At the arched eyebrow, he clarified, "Well, it's such a frolicsome subject; I could of least have tried a slightly tilted camera angle."

"Frolicsome, Draco? Jesus, does it bother you so much just to say happy or jolly?" he snickered quietly.

"Jolly is a stupid word." The blonde muttered, and moved on to the next of his newest photographs, one that showed some squashed and walked upon flowers shriveling sadly on a sand road.

The two of them had picked up his fresh developed pictures after school from the local bookstore and were currently browsing through them, a ritual they had shared from back when Draco had taken up his fascination for photography. Blaise had probably seen hundreds of these already, but for some reason he never quite got bored with them. Though his unpredictable friend snapped images of the most absurd topics, they always seemed to have a certain atmosphere about them. Like the one with the crushed flowers he was looking at now, generated a sensation in Blaise that was one of possibility draining into despair. Typically Draco, the one before, which the blonde had dubbed 'frolicsome', was of a child hobbling after a very cowed chicken, one of rarer kind he made. Usually, he created pictures that had a somber and cryptic taste to them, in a way he reasoned, how he was feeling. For Draco it was an outlet for his feelings, what he could not say, he tried to capture in most of his photographs and, in Blaise's opinion, succeeded quite well at doing so. Or maybe he was plain morbid, something which would not surprise the journalism student.

The next one was of a dark haired youth following the trail alongside a taller individual, one whose face was not visible. He held it from a distance, stretching his long arm, and eyed it critically. As he did so, he felt Draco tense up besides him. It was quite good, he considered, making portraits was definitely one of the more delicate aspects in photography than mere landscapes, though there could be argued about. The sunlight flared from behind the person's head, and yet did not cast his features completely into shadow. Draco had even timed the shot so precisely that the sun did not reflect on the person's glasses, resulting that the shimmer in the youth's unique green eyes was captured. The long black bangs fell haphazardly over a smooth forehead, hiding almost the upper-half if his face from view. Full lips were touched lightly by a completive smile, as if his thoughts were not focused on where he was, nor on the person walking by his side.

"I like this one," he firmly declared, "but…" he hesitated, feeling that he was clearly missing something.

"But what?" Draco pressed, casting an anxious glance.

Narrowing his eyes and shoveling into his mind for the link he knew he was missing, Blaise remained still, attempting to pinprick the itching feeling at the back of mind. Didn't he know that guy? He shook his head, "Nothing, but I really like it. It's got…well, it's got _something_, though I can't say what exactly. " He stacked them and handed the package to his friend.

Draco slipped them into the envelope rather hurriedly. "I'm going to put these in my room for a moment, be right back."

He semi rolled off Blaise's bed, his synthetic sweatpants gliding smoothly over the surface. Without looking back he padded into the hallway and made over to his room. A soft smile was allowed on his lips. Already he thought of it as 'his' room, though it was merely the guest room he always occupied when he slept over at the Zabinis. Not because he spent so much time there, but more so because he genuinely felt at ease. It didn't matter that the house was roughly half of theirs, nor it having not all the luxury they had; at least here he wasn't haunted by the oppressive sensation that dwelled in the Malfoy Mansion.

Luck had really been on his side, this weekend, with him having turned down his temper a bit and having treated his mother with the respect the deserved, she'd let him go and sleep over at his friend's. What she didn't know of course, was that Alex was going to be there, too. As a matter a fact, either of his parents still probably didn't know that Alex had transferred along with him from Durmstrang Institute. It was very hard not to accidentally blab it out and even Blaise had to catch his tongue more than once that he'd didn't give her presence away. They'd even come up with a nick-name, which they used to talk about her when they were at Draco's place; Jak. It was short and easy to remember, and probably still left his parents mystified that they were actually talking about a female, instead of a male friend. Though he found the name suited her pretty well. He'd had to get used calling her 'Alex', he never thought of it as a girl's name before meeting her, so taking the step to 'Jak' hadn't been that difficult. Sometimes they even addressed her with the nick-name when there wasn't any reason to be secretive.

Jinx's room was located opposite of his, and he thought he perceived Alex's musky accent sounding from within. Deciding to leave them their privacy, he entered his chamber and sat down on the bed. He didn't know why he had virtually ran away to hide his pictures, but it was just witnessing his friend stare at Potter's picture that had made him feel as if he'd been caught at something. Though at what he did not know. Blaise knew that he tended to take picture of just about everyone and anything, but he himself had forgotten that it had been in this series.

His eyes were fastened on the flashy envelope, with the address and prices from the bookstore pictured across it in bold, flashy letters, but he wasn't really seeing it. Hands suddenly started opening it again, and he just regarded his actions though it felt he hadn't initiated them. The stack of photos slipped out when he turned it over, into his awaiting palm. Then he selected the thin square that he had quickly slipped on the bottom when Blaise had returned it to him. With an almost puzzled, frustrated look he glared at the depiction. After his initial hesitation, he had gone ahead and taken the photo anyway. His instincts had told him it would turn out good, and he had just given in and followed them. Stupid guy hadn't even noticed he was standing there.

He frowned even more so. What had he been thinking? Hiding behind a tree and sneakily snapping photographs from some person as if he were a perverted stalker. Shaking his head in obvious dissatisfaction, he wondered why he had been so compelled to make the damn thing in the first place. Potter wasn't at all that bad looking, he acknowledged, in that unique way of being attractive.

In the confinement of his own private thoughts he even dared wager that he'd even be romantically interested in the guy if he hadn't been blinded by his anathema towards Weasley. The notion troubled his slightly. Now that he had lowered his guard, he was able to see that he found Potter more than just attractive. He'd always had a thing for the silent and shy black-haired type, though with a strong backbone.

Disgusted with himself he rammed the photographs none too calmly back into the envelope. Dragging a hand down his cramped features he tried to chase out the last remnants from his little confrontation with the truth. Resolutely he went out into hallway again, though slowing almost immediately when a soft conversation reached his ear. He wondered what Alex and Jinx were talking about. For a moment he considered eavesdropping, but Alex would probably nail his ass before he would be able to get away.

Just as he started to move towards Blaise's room again, a dark blonde head peeked into the hallway. When she spotted him and an innocently sweet smile curled Datum's lips, Draco knew he was in some sort of trouble.

"Dracooo!" she said, her smile widening even more so, "How nice to see you here walking the hallways in our humble abode this lovely evening."

The blonde youth squinted at her suspiciously; they'd already seen each other over at dinner, and the wicked twinkle in her blue eyes didn't comfort him one bit. "What are you after?" he asked wearily.

"Oh, sweetheart, so cautious." Blaise's older sister clucked her tongue as she slipped through the doorway completely now, "I just want your help with something."

"What kind of help?" he retorted cheekily, allowing a smarmy smirk on his face.

Datum pouted and grabbed the fabric of his sleeve, "Oh please, I'm bored out of my mind, I just want to do this little test."

Still distrustful of her intentions, knowing from Blaise that his sister was one sneaky spitfire, Draco reluctantly agreed. He liked her well enough, though, but as mentioned, Datum had a knack for wrenching your most private secrets out of you.

"Great!" she chirped and tugging at the sleeve of his black turtleneck she dragged him enthusiastically into her room.

Draco let himself tumble lazily between the flourish of pillows and stuffed toys on her wide, blue-duvet covered bed. Datum's room was a world of difference compared to those of Blaise and Jinx's, but it seemed smaller due to all the bright colors and things she'd gathered in there. Almost everywhere he looked a plush toy stared blindly back at him or some dumbly grinning male model winked meaningfully at his audience, making Draco fight the urge _not_ to childishly scribble a moustache on it, or make two or three of their teeth black with a marker. Dainty nicknacks lined the bookcases and windowsill, from which many he couldn't even determine the use. If they had one to begin with. The dominating color was clearly blue and plum and he wondered how she could spend so many hours in her room without having a brain hemorrhage.

"Okay, one thing," he said loudly, sticking a finger up in the air to emphasize the importance of what he was going to say, "Turn off that sodding awful music, _now!_ Please."

She stuck out her reddish tongue at him, but knew she'd have to comply if she wanted him to remain. Having done so grudgingly, Beyoncé's voice draining away as she turned the volume down and ignoring Draco's overdramatic sigh of relief, she plopped down in her chair before the computer, which now filled the room with its steady buzz.

Pulling up her slender legs, she sat cross-legged perched upon her chair, and rested a magazine in the cradle they formed. She turned a glossy page, "Okay; order following animals by personal preference."

Draco didn't bother to hide turning his slate gray eyes heavenwards, "Do I have to?" he groaned, disliking 'tests' like those. They were pointless anyway.

"Indulge me." She said with a smirk, "Okay, listen; pig, horse, tiger, cow, sheep."

Crossing his arms behind his head, he stared tiredly at the ceiling, willing his brain to function so he could at least entertain her. He found it difficult to choose between horse and tiger, but thinking of the magnificent stallion Rumor, stabled just outside the house made up his mind, "Horse first, then tiger." He heard her scribble down his answers, "then sheep, cow and pig." The last three animals served of little fascination for him, except maybe sheep, just because they were such funny dumb creatures.

"O-kaaaay…" Datum murmured, "Next you have to think of a word or notion you find suitable for following words; dog, cat, rat, coffee and sea."

His chest expanded with a bored sigh, and he pushed up his shirt somewhat so he could scratch absent-mindedly at his stomach, "Dog… loyal…err.."

"Cat." Datum repeated for him.

"Independent. Rat…vicious. What was the next…?"

"Coffee, how could you forget?" she supplied.

He grinned at her, "Coffee is delicious."

For some reason Datum chuckled at his answer, causing him to frown again. God knows what that answer might have meant.

"And the sea is polluted." He concluded.

Datum nodded, her pen flying over the scrap of paper as she noted it down. "Number Three: five colors: yellow, orange, red, white and green. Think of a person in your life that you find suitable for each color."

"Jesus," he huffed and brow furrowing as he pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"Didn't know you were into religion, dear." Datum deadpanned.

This time it was Draco who stuck out his pierced tongue at her, the silver titanium barbell glimmering in the lamplight. Then he set to figuring the third question out. At least one of the colors was easy, "Red is Alex."

There was no second doubt to that, the vibrant, passionate color had a raw appeal to it, much like his friend and it even held the slightly impatient streak that he could trace back to her. Red just also happened to be a color she happened to wear quite frequently, contradicting nicely with her bronze skin and snow-white dreadlocks. Red was definitely Alex.

"For green, Blaise." It was harder to discern why he found that such a rather vibrant color was related to his rather dark, mysterious and stoic friend. But he also felt it suited his relationship with his friend for some reason, rather than it suited Blaise personally.

"That leaves yellow, orange and white." Datum reminded him, peering down at the magazine as she twirled a lock of dark blonde around her slender finger.

Draco snorted to himself; he'd just reached the end of the list of his closest friends. Pretty pathetic, he sneered inwardly. "Maybe yellow for Nott?" he mused.

Not that Theodore was a yellow person, if anything he was dark gray or something. A broody color at least.

"And orange for you." he decided.

"I'm an orange person?" She asked, seemingly indignant.

"Uh-huh, you're my orange person," He shrugged carelessly, "White… I don't know any white people. Heck, I've named just about all persons in my life that I consider friends!" Draco exclaimed, getting more fed up with the ridiculous test with each passing minute.

"Doesn't matter, it's the last one anyway, just pick someone."

"Potter." he blurted out, and he even had the decency to cover his mouth in surprise. Where the hell had that come from?

"Who's that?" Datum queried, never having heard of the guy. "That _is _his surname, I hope?"

A casual shrug was all she got. After pausing for a minute, and not having received an answer, she went on, reckoning that he was not going to say any more when he didn't want to. Nevertheless she stored the information away. Datum would work on him later.

"Okay, make a wish." She declared and at Draco's derisive laugh she barked, "No seriously, do it!"

Taken a back at her temper, he wished for the first thing that came to mind. _'Happiness, I want to be happy.' _

"Done." He muttered and was frowning over what he'd just wished. Couldn't he have gone for something more useful? A good career or something? Why happiness? He was content with his life…wasn't he?

Before he could continue his introspect, Datum started with delivering his answers.

"Yours seems to make more sense than mine," she observed, and then pointing with her finger on the corresponding answers in the magazine she said, "The order of the animals stood for the priorities in your life. Horse was your first and represents family."

His eyes widened. Family? He didn't give a toss for his, so it didn't seem like a priority. Then again, at the back of his head a nagging voice pointed out that he desired nothing more but to be with the Zabinis. When he was with them, it felt as if he belonged, much more so than he experienced at home, with his mother and father. Was he really longing so strongly for a real family, he wondered, but he couldn't quite find an answer.

Datum went on, "Second one was tiger, which stands for pride."

At least that one was close enough.

"Thirdly, sheep, and that is love," she paused, "Third place, Draco? It was first on mine."

He inclined his head non-comitially. He didn't believe in it really, the romantic kind anyway, so he was quite astonished it had made third place on his priorities.

"Then cow, which is career and finally pig, meaning money."

Draco smirked, now convinced that such stupid tests were complete bullshit, perfectly demonstrated here as career and money were defiantly first place, he said to himself. What more could he want from life?

"Second question, for dog you had loyal, which refers to your own personality."

A slanted eyebrow was raised curiously and gray eyes blinked. Loyal? In what context? As in faithful to a lover or as in always standing by his friends?

"Cat, independent, which refers to your opinion about your loved one." Datum said with a slight roll of her shoulders, making one of them crack loudly. They both winced at the loud snap.

"I have no loved one," he responded offhandedly as he stared up at the ceiling. "Next."

Datum shook her head resignedly but obeyed, "Rat was vicious, and that is how your think of your enemy."

"Bingo, at least the damn test got one thing correct," he laughed loudly, thinking about Pansy. Vicious was a mild expression still.

His companion snickered knowingly along, having heard the outrageous stories from her brother, "Hear, hear!" she said gleefully "Anyway, for coffee you had delicious." She paused and the look in her blue eyes didn't please him one bit, "Sex."

A leer riddled his handsome face, but he said nothing. How was he supposed to bloody know? For all his bravado and tough talk he was probably the most inexperienced of his friends, though he'd rather cut his tongue than admit it. He didn't need to be reminded by some idiotic little test in an equally frivolous girls-magazine that he was still 'uncorrupted', as Alex had so delicately put it.

Having mercy, Datum went on, covering the awkward moment with a small cough of indifference, "And your sea was polluted, which is how you see your life."

A smile that had nothing to do with being happy twisted his lips; at least there he could rely to. Polluted indeed he reflected darkly and the sharp face of a haughty looking man with long blonde hair swam before his eyes.

Datum prattled on, trying to brush away this subject as well, knowing some fragments of Draco's home life. And the somber look on his face didn't suit her one bit. "Now the colors, for yellow you had Theodore, which means you'll never forget him." she pressed on.

He turned his head backwards to look at her, the despondent sensation disappearing from his eyes. Never forget Nott? True, he confessed, his slightly creepy friend would be hard to forget.

"Orange was me and… aw Draco," she cooed and leaned closer so she could pinch his cheek, "I'm your true friend."

Looking at her, he somehow figured that perhaps it wasn't too far from the truth. Though they were not close, he appreciated her company despite the lousy subjects such as these she liked to pursue. But it did make him wonder where Alex and Blaise stood.

What she said next revealed the first, "Red was our dear Alex…" she halted and leveled him with a warm yet intense gaze, "She is the one you truly love."

Silence filled the room for a moment, leaving Draco alone with that concept. Love her? Unconsciously a hand moved up from his exposed stomach to rest on his heart, were it now fluttered in high nervous tempo against his ribcage. Love in platonically way, for sure. It did seem odd to him to use such a strong word with friendship, however special theirs was. Datum's voice interrupted his train of thought carefully.

"Green was Blaise, and you will always be there for each other." She told him and her voice grew fond, smiling happily at him, as if she were relieved to know where her brother stood in his life.

However cheesy sounding, it made him smile just a bit. Blaise was his right hand, best friend, confidant, and moral support without really doing anything but being there for him. No, he was not ashamed to admit that he cared for his enigmatic comrade about as much as he cared for Alex. He vowed silently that he would be there for him, whenever he needed him, whatever be his trouble.

"Finally white, which was this mysterious Potter-person, about whom you refuse to tell me," she said with a reproaching tone, "And he…or she?" she trailed off.

"He." He mumbled, refusing to meet her eyes.

Datum arched an eyebrow, as she rubbed her pencil against her lips, "Well, he is supposed to be your soul mate."

Draco whipped his head round so fast, that he almost gave himself whiplash. Gingerly he massaged his neck while gaping at her, "Potter?"

A nod.

"Potter is supposed to be my soul mate?" he asked again.

Another nod.

He let himself flop back down upon the bed, spread-eagled, "Have mercy, dear God, and strike me down."

Datum had abandoned her magazine and hopped onto the bed next to him on her knees, effectively putting her in a higher position so she could bore him down with kittenish blue eyes. "You have to tell me more about him!" she twittered mirthfully.

Immediately Draco sensed that it was time for him to get the hell out of the blue room and its relentless female occupant. He tried to sidle of the bed inconspicuously. "There's nothing to tell about him. Just some guy from my class."

"You must have picked him for a reason!" Datum urged, moving along with him to the edge of the bed until Draco tumbled of it in a flurry of flying arms and a gasp of surprise. Expectantly she blinked at where he had disappeared.

A hair-mussed blonde head poked indignantly up again, "No reason! You said to pick someone, and I did. That's it!" he crossed his arms in his typical gesture of protectiveness over his lean yet toned chest.

Before Draco had time to realize what was happening, he found Datum's nose mere centimeters from his own, "Is that so?" she whispered, her warm breath fanning over his high cheekbones.

"Yes," the blonde assented meekly, and used his unexplainably clam hand palms to push and glide himself backwards on his ass, the fabric sliding effortlessly over the linoleum that covered the bedroom floor. "I'll…be going now." He mumbled, and nearly sprang to his feet and flew through the door and back into the hallway again.

"Bye Draco!" she called sweetly after him.

Having escaped into the deserted landing, the blonde photographer walked briskly back to Blaise's room, desperately trying to forget what had been said in the past quarter of an hour. Treading into the room to the left of Datum's, he found it empty. Maybe he'd gone downstairs.

"Blaise?" he called into the hallway, his voice echoing trough the length. Standing perfectly silent, he awaited a sign of life.

"In here!" the chocolate haired youth's voice responded from the other side of the hallway.

Throwing a glance on his watch, he found that it past eight already, time for little girls to go to sleep. The fourth room of the Zabini children was located directly at your right, if you would be coming up the stairs, directly opposite of the parents' room.

Calmly, he nudged the door open. Immediately a genuine smile lighted his face. The sight of Blaise tucking in his youngest sister and reading her bedtime-story always did that to him. Likely, because it was something he'd never experienced when he was still a child her age. Often he just sat in the room, listening and enjoying the interaction between the young girl and either her brother or one of her parents. As of lately, April, the five year old sister was going through a 'big-brother-is-my-favorite'-phase which had ultimately resulted in Blaise being in charge of story reading.

The brunette just flapped the colorful children's book closed with a 'snap'. "And they lived happily ever after…" he concluded, a typical, unoriginal way to end a fairytale.

Draco grinned; of course it had to end with 'happily ever after', because otherwise April would refuse to close an eye.

"Ah Draco, you're right on time for the goodnight kiss." He said with a playful smirk, inclining his head towards his baby sister.

"Would have hated to miss that," he answered in a grave tone, and moved to stoop over the bed.

April looked up at him with big, innocent gray eyes, her blonde braid coiling around her head on the pillow, the tuft curling like some fluffy little animal at the end. When he leaned over, she ducked her head shyly, a soft giggle escaping the small mouth.

"Can't forget the girl I'm going to marry later." He stated, and leaned over to give her a peck on the cheek, "Goodnight, little one."

He had promised about a week or two ago that he'd marry her; apparently April had decided that having a crush on her brother's best friend would be very appropriate. Dutifully he played along, knowing that children could feel love at such an age, however temporary it might be. The last thing he wanted to do was to break her little heart and be scalped by a very pissed Blaise Zabini. The protective older brother-streak ran in the family, Finbar Ganad was not the only one who could go bonkers when it considered his younger sibling.

"Night Draco," she yawned and huddled into her pillow sleepily.

Waiting at the doorframe, he saw Blaise lingering to tuck the duvet tenderly around her delicate little shoulders, his hand straying momentarily to stroke her golden-blonde fringe out of her eyes.

It was obvious that half of the Zabini children had inherited the Italian side, coming from their father's, and the two other the British. Italian features were very easily to distinguish in Blaise's features; his slightly tanned skin, the dark brown, wavy hair and the intelligent hazel eyes and on Jinx's face, her loosely curled hair, dark and thick, eyes similar the her brother's and a little mole above her upper lip. The British side could be retraced to Datum, indisputable with her dark blonde tresses, clear blue eyes and fair skin and April who had honeyed hair in loose curls, and sparkling gray eyes.

Draco's fondness for this family lied close to his heart.

"Where'd you disappeared to, just a moment ago?" the subtly dusky skinned youth queried.

The other waved at the question disinterestedly, "Datum was bothering me."

Blaise nodded, apparently the answer made more than enough sense to him that he didn't need to look in to it further. "I'm going to get us some food downstairs."

"I'll go with you," the blonde said, still feeling very vulnerable and not wanting to stomach a second onslaught on his most inner privacies.

Together they descended the stairs, their footsteps hollow-sounding in the spacious trap-hall and entered the quiet ground-level of the house. Draco collapsed on one of the barstools around the island, peeling the fabric from his turtleneck away from his heated body. He was way too overdressed in accordance with the current temperature. Meanwhile Blaise had shrugged of his button-up blouse, which had been hanging open, and deposited it on another stool as he made his way to the refrigerator.

Neither of them had noticed the small crouched form close to the ground near the lower cupboards and Blaise stumbled over the person with a curse of surprise. Fortunately for him, he managed to grab hold of the countertop as he went down, saving himself a nasty fall and a bump on the head.

"Bloody-" he managed to wheeze , scrambling to get his feet steady on the slippery tile floor again. Standing to full height again, a hand came up to check on the damage inflicted on his left bicep. He'd nicked it when he'd gone down. It was chafed down to where his skin was oozing a thin layer of blood.

A groan was heard somewhere at his feet.

"Ah man." Alex muttered, clutching her ribs on her right side where his shin had collided with her.

He crouched down to her altitude, "I'm sorry, didn't see you down there." Came his genuine apology as he helped her to sit up straight, "what _were_ you doing on the floor, anyway?"

Rubbing her abused ribcage gingerly, Alex answered, "Napoleon has crawled off somewhere under there when I was cleaning out his cage with Jinx. Though I don't know how on earth he's gotten down the stairs."

Lowering himself to his hands and knees, Blaise peered under the cupboard. And there alright, all the way back, pressed to the wall, was Napoleon rolling his eyes aggregately at him.

"Stupid iguana." He heard his friend mutter.

Stretching his long arm under the wooden cabinet, he felt around blindly until his fingertips brushed over the scaly skin of Alex's pet green iguana. Napoleon was its name and it had tumbled into Alex's hands after Finbar had discovered it on one of his many explorations of the surrounding nature and woodlands. Apparently the poor lizard was yet another victim of the pet industry and the previous owner thought it would be wise to dump the creature there after it he or she decided it was too much trouble to look after. What the idiot conveniently had forgotten was that green iguanas needed tropical temperatures to survive, and that England's generally chilly weather did not offer that.

It was near dead when Finbar had found it, and not able to bring himself to forsake the poor thing, he had brought it home. Serene, his mother, nearly had a nervous breakdown, since both her sons had the tendency to turn their house steadily in a place for the lost and straying. It had been passed on to Alex then, the only one of the near circle of friends that hadn't yet been given one of those foundlings into care. Not being able to pay for a terrarium big enough for the iguana, the Zabinis had taken care of that. Though officially Napoleon was till hers, it lived 24/7 at the Zabinis.

Besides the green iguana that lived at their house, his sisters all had a personal cat they fostered and Blaise owned a tame raven he had dubbed Aasento after he had nursed to back to health and had mended its broken wing. Most of the time the bird was off on its own, but it still came back daily to spend a few minutes of solitude in its master's presence, Blaise.

Cupping the lizard awkwardly with both hands, the creature hanging limply in his gasp with its crooked legs and long whip-like tail dangling comically in the air, Blaise raised himself again. "Keep an eye on it." He ordered Draco as he set it down before the blonde's nose.

Then he went down again to pull Alex to her feet. "Let me see damage."

Awkwardly Alex tugged her shirt up just below her voluminous breasts, directing a venomous glare at Draco's smug smirk. She felt Blaise's soft fingers brush her skin carefully, prodding her ribs here and there, and it sent a flood of some nameless sensation through her "It's nothing Blaise, just a bruise." She said, her voice a mere whisper.

Her friend made a dubious humming noise,"I kicked you around pretty bad, let's just put some salve on it, just in case."

"Whatever." She said perfunctory and pulled her shirt down again. "Your chest." she remarked, her voice taking a completely different tone as she spotted the place where his trim bicep had been skinned.

"Don't worry about it," he brushed it off, trying to ignore her fleeting touch near the wound, his skin flaring up in tingling sensations at the unexpected contact. Suddenly he felt very naked standing there bare-chested before her green eyes and her small hand splayed wide in the middle of his torso. He could feel the very tips of her lengthy dreadlocks brush somewhere near his naval.

Draco was rolling his slate colored eyes at the both of them, "I'll see to it that the both of you get patched up, with your childish pride."

"After I ditch Napoleon here back in his terrarium. The bloody oaf must be freezing." Alex stated with equal stubbornness, though standing there in her small, happy-tree friends tee and in a pair of loose boxers, rainbow striped toe-socks on her small feet, she doubted Malfoy would take her too seriously.

Nevertheless, she didn't wait around for him to reply to that, lifted Napoleon gently to her chest, and disappeared out of the kitchen.

"Her loss." Draco grunted, and pushed away from the kitchen-island to rummage through the refrigerator's contents, looking for a treat. When he drew back his hands he had retrieved –quite predictably- a chocolate bar.

They had been forced to store all kinds of 'meltable' eatables into the fridge. It was one of the warmest summers both of them had yet known, especially so late into the year. Eventually Draco gave up the pretense of being entirely comfortable in his dark turtleneck, and drew it over his head, ridding himself of the burden.

Blaise, having popped a can of iced tea, regarded his friend with a wry smile when the latter winced and hissed over again when the fabric brushed his tender body. He had a bad case of sunburns, Draco, after being exposed to the soaring sun during the basketball game earlier this week. And, most importantly, having fallen asleep with a bare torso a day or two ago. They even had been able to peel the dead skin of his shoulders and even now, his cheeks held a permanent red flush that could be interpreted as if he were furiously blushing the whole time.

Though still fair to his own skin, which was always slightly darker due to his linage from his father's side, Draco had a healthy complexion after this holiday. But when the two of them would make close skin-to-skin contact, it always seemed as if Draco's hand was still as fair as snow compared to his own. Contrasted against Alex's it was even more so a striking difference.

His shrewd hazel irises followed the arch Draco's hand made to touch his lips to the dark brown candy, mouth quirking into a tiny smile of satisfaction. Blaise wondered how Draco, despite consuming great amounts of this sweet every week, could still be so slim. If he had thought himself somewhat on the slender side, then Draco was just downright thin. And yet, in a way, he was so _without _appearing fragile or weak. His body was toned, and still skinny at the same time; his stomach had the much desired washboard pattern, and yet directly below his hipbones jutted at out at either side. His pectorals might be defined and move in accordance with every muscle he used, his ribs still showed just below. Still, Draco was an undeniably attractive young man.

Suddenly he found his absent-minded gaze met by somewhat amused gray ones, "Like what you see, do you?"

Blaise gave him an unimpressed snort, "Stop hoping, Draco." He said, and sat down beside him on a bar-stool, his can of lemon iced tea before him. A faint burning sensation diverted his attention from the witty comeback his friend threw at him. Looking down he saw the raw patches of torn skin continue to swell and irritate.

A hand cuffed him on the back of his head, "Don't pluck at it!" Draco barked at him.

Blaise frowned, but dutifully clasped his hand around the can again. He stiffened the muscles in his chest repeatedly, somehow trying to will the annoying feeling to go away.

"Right. I'm going to get some disinfectant," Draco stated, growing tired of his spasmodic movements, "Grab me something to drink and wait upstairs will you?" and then he was off.

He did not object, even though he was being ordered around, and gathered the two items of clothing under his arm, took a cool drink from the fridge icy confinement and finished his load by grabbing a long a bag of pepper and salted crisps.

It was not long after he was seated cross-legged upon his bed, in the silence of his room, save for the crunching of the crisps between his jaws, that Draco returned. In one hand he had a bottle of disinfectant, some wads and a tube of salve that lessened bruises, the other he had clenched around Alex's wrist, dragging her unwilling weight behind him.

"Sit." He said, and she did with eyes turned skyward, "Lift shirt." was next, and while grumbling under her breath, she did so, careful to avoid Blaise's eyes. Draco, with unexpected gentleness, rubbed the salve over the purple bruised skin. When that was done, he dismissed her with a wave, "Scram."

She punched Draco's shoulder playfully in response, and they grinned at each other as she slipped away.

Then he took care of Blaise, who eyed the sudden display of worried care calmly. Draco was unpredictable after all. Not a hiss left his lips, though the liquid burned faintly in the open wound. The two of them spend the rest of the evening talking amongst the two of them, the topics drifting from trivial, to serious debate and to plain absurd.

--

It was past midnight when Draco at last slipped into his own bed and under the covers, the night chasing a welcome chill through the air.

Staring upward at the ceiling, his faithful headphones cradling his ears, Draco let himself drift away on the flow of the music. His breathing evened out, and soon he was being wrapped in a slight sleep, the music guiding him still. Battery starting to run low, the sound faint in his mind, Draco had just drifted off, when he felt his mattress dipping slightly on his left side, towards the door. Disgruntled he pried open a heavy lid and stared straight into anxious green eyes which were positively glowing in the darkness.

"What?" He urged, voice gritty with sleep.

Alex did not answer; she just stared at him, some personal demon haunting her world. Despite all her courage and strong will, her past did seem to catch up with her in unguarded moments such as dreams. Stubborn as she was, Alex drove herself over limits that were better not to be crossed, which ended always in situations such as these. It was only he or Gloves she went to, more so because they had caught her in her silent terror and had continued to offer help even if she refused at first.

"Can I…" she trailed off, biting her full bottom lip viciously, obviously distraught and hating having to come to him. She found it a weakness.

Draco's hand crawled tiredly over the duvet to touch hers. It was as cold as ice. "Come on." he murmured, lifting the covers.

After just a fraction of a moment's hesitation she inched underneath, and Draco lowered his arm and the duvet, letting it cover her protectively. When she settled down, and the rigid manner drained away, Draco spooned up behind her, her small form fitting against his own.

This time it took long before there was a trace of sleep, and he spend the extra minutes just thinking. They did have an odd relationship, he reflected. Carefully as to not to wake her, he slid the flat of his palm over her belly, spanning it almost completely. He was not used to such closeness, and yet he gave it freely to her. There was no physical release or yearning what so ever, even though he had tried and willed his body for it to be so. It could save him a lot of hardship. But there was only this; the two of them curled together as two halves of a whole, yet not quite. They were not meant, and would never be, and there was only acceptance of this knowledge. However they did manage to make some sort of imperfect whole together. A great tranquility settled over him, as if now, he too, could sleep in peace.

---

Title credits, of course, go to Nirvana – Smells Like Teen Spirit.

This chapter has not yet been beta-ed!


	6. Scar Tissue

**Disclaimer: **I do_ not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Chapter Six – Scar Tissue**

"_I'd hate to have to kill Harry. I rather like him." –Finbar Ganad_

**  
**

"This behavior is unacceptable!" McGonagall said in her curt voice, her lips pulled into a thin line of disapproval. "Not only does your petty rivalry reflect badly upon the reputation of the school, but it also disturbs the general spirit amongst your fellow classmates of the seventh and even sixth grade."

Ron sat silently on his chair, a dejected expression on his face and doing a good job of staring avidly at the patched hole in his jeans. Besides him, slouched down on his own seat was Malfoy, his features a perfect example of complete disinterest and as always exhuming confidence.

It had started off as it always did, with a snipe from the blonde on something Ron had said. Ron's venomous reaction against it, and then it had just escalated from there. It had been very close to evolving in a far more physical fight when Hermione, being a prefect, and his own bloody girlfriend, had put an end to it. And now, after half an hour, they were still in McGonagall's office.

"Why is it so hard for you two gentlemen to just stay clear of each other if you both find it so hard to just try and get along? I'm not asking for you two to be friends, but this for most of you your last year here at Hogwarts, can't the both of just try and breath the same air for the others' sake?"

"He started it." Ron muttered, unable to help himself.

Draco rolled his eyes theatrically, "Oh yes, please professor, do punish me! Poor Weasel-bee can't manage one good-natured joke!"

"You said my family and I stink!" Ron snarled at him.

"I suggested that _something_ was foul-smelling, I can't help it if you felt addressed." The other returned matter-of-factly.

"Enough!" Minerva McGonagall barked, "I can't believe the absolute childishness of this matter! From first years I can understand this kind of 'insults', but you are supposed to act like adults! You're both nearly eighteen! Aren't you ashamed?"

Ron bit his lip and looked away, ears red with frustration. It just wasn't fair; time and time again Malfoy would degrade him and his family. And he was supposed to just let it pass over him and walk away? Even when Malfoy was having a go at his younger sister? He wasn't a coward, and was surely not afraid to step up to protect his friends and family. Should he just let himself be terrorized and cower away like all the other pupils in the school?

Meanwhile, in the hallway beyond the office door, Harry and Hermione were waiting patiently for Ron to be released from his lecture. Hermione was bristling.

"I can't believe Ron! Every time again he walks open eyed into Malfoy's comments!" she breathed, tapping her foot at aggregately, "He should be above those things by now! And I told him to ignore Draco!"

Harry nodded absent-mindedly, and though he saw the logic and simple wisdom in Hermione's words, he was not entirely agreeing. If Malfoy would scorn Sirius or whoever else close to him, he would have reacted exactly the same way as Ron. Sometimes the best defense was offence. Why should they let the blonde prick walk straight over them?

Still rambling on, Hermione ranted; "The whole argument was just- just-"

"Absurd?" a new voice offered.

Both of them turned as one to look at Blaise Zabini, who had snuck up on them as silently as a shadow and had his nose between the pages of a newspaper. When or how he had arrived there unnoticed was a complete mystery.

"I agree though." he added, and flipped a page.

It seemed that his bushy haired friend was so riled that even Zabini was going to have to withstand her preaching. "How can you stand to be his friend?" she demanded as she took a step or two to approach him. "He's so immature and temperamental. There isn't even any logic in his dislike for Ron!"

Harry wondered what the young man's reaction would be; Zabini was still some kind of enigma to him.

Peering over the edge of his newspaper for a second, Blaise said dryly "I've grown up with three sisters. After that I think I can manage Draco as well."

In spite of his distrust towards the dark brown haired youth, Harry had to grin at that.

"Besides," Blaise went on calmly, "his bark's a lot worse than his bite." He paused, seemingly reflecting his own statement, as he folded his paper and tucked it under his arm momentarily. "It_ is_ a lot like handling a dog. Rewarding the good behavior and ignoring the bad behavior, you know?"

Cocking a dark eyebrow, Harry said with a small snort, "Aren't you two supposed to be friends?"

"We are." Blaise confirmed serenely as he leaned against the wall.

Shaking his head with confused amusement, Harry thought to himself that either Zabini was very brave or very stupid. And really now, what kind of friendship did those two have when Blaise was talking about the blonde like that? He found it hard to comprehend the youth's attitude.

"By the way, Hermione," Blaise suddenly spoke up again, as he rummaged through his book bag.

It seemed that Hermione was as shocked as Harry at the use of her first name by the brunette.

He held out a neatly bounded pack of papers to her, "Some notes from last year. I came upon them after cleaning my desk a few days ago and would have thrown away if I hadn't remembered that perhaps you might have some use of them."

Wordlessly, Hermione accepted the bundle, leafing through it with round eyes. "Well, I-… thank you."

The other was already engrossed with his newspaper again, and didn't even acknowledge her words of gratitude. Blaise Zabini, Harry decided, was the sort who liked to hide in plain sight, which made him all the more hard to find.

Hermione had gathered her wits again after the unexpected gesture, and now said with a curious tone in her voice, "You really are the most-"

"Brilliant? Unique? Devastatingly handsome kind of person you have ever met?" Blaise spoke smoothly, face still hidden behind the swath of paper, but with the ever monotone and casual sound in his words, "I know, Granger, no need to tell me again."

"-Weird kind of person, I've met." She finished, eyeing him with a small smile circling her lips.

"From you, I'll take that as a compliment, Granger." He said almost cheerfully.

It was at that moment the door of the office room swayed open, and a disgruntled looking Ron and perfectly composed Draco Malfoy were ushered into the hallway. In the doorway McGonagall peered down her nose at the assembled youngsters, before closing the door once again.

"Well then," Draco said, locking his fingers and stretching his long arms above his head, "That was just another _fascinating_ lecture to start my day with."

"I'll bet." Blaise reacted offhandedly, as he pushed himself away from the wall.

"Honestly, though, people here are so _sensitive_." The slate eyed youth continued, wearing a little frown on his face, one that slanted his eyebrows almost as of he were worried, the piercing in his right eyebrow responding to the movement with a flicker.

"Don't start with me again, Malfoy!" Ron ground out, balling his hands to tight fists at his side.

"See what I mean?" the other countered coolly, an angelic expression on his face.

"Anyway," Blaise interrupted, "Let's go get us a drink. I've wasted most of recess waiting here for you."

As they walked away, leaving the trio of friends behind, Draco could be seen giving his companion a playful poke in the ribs. His dark haired counterpart flinched away at the contact and swatted at the blonde with his newspaper. Hermione was shaking her head.

"I'll never understand those two," she said tiredly, having folded her arms and staring into the direction the two of them had gone.

Harry was more interested in his friend, "So how did it go?" he asked.

"Same as always. You're ruining it for your class mates, blah blah blah, we ought to be responsible and mature enough by now, yadaya-" Ron trailed of, and heaved a deep sigh while raking his fingers through his short fiery hair.

"McGonagall's right you know." Hermione reproached him.

Ron glared at her, "Be glad you didn't land me in detention, always running to the teachers, you!"

As she opened her mouth in order to fire an indignant reply to that, Harry stepped in between, hands up in surrender. "Come on, you guys, bickering about it won't do. We've had enough of that already."

Hermione closed her jaw with a click and pursed her lips, "You're right, let's just try and make most of what's left of recess." She said, and with Harry at her side, they stared towards the cafeteria.

Trailing behind, Ron grumbled moodily under his breath.

--

A good two hours later they were seated in Aesthetics, Harry doing his very best to keep his eyes open, while Ron was still floating upon his little thundercloud. He felt even more deprived from entertainment as he noticed that his class mates all had developed specific methods to survive during courses like these. Normally Ron and he had a few of their own, but the red head was still gazing blank eyed out of the window to his left, almost as if he were willing himself to grow wings so he could swoop out and into the endless sky. Harry knew better than to bother him, but was left to his own devices as to keep himself busy. Not even having brought along some reading material or a Discman, he just let his eyes shift around the room. Studying its occupants and noting where they sat.

On the bench before theirs were Alex Ladon and Dean, the two of them doodling and scribbling away on a scrap of paper the dark-skinned youth had fetched from the depths of his rucksack. Ever so often they would burst out in a fit of chuckles, surprising Harry somewhat with how well they seemed to get along.

To his right was Hermione and Neville, their female friend perhaps the only one who was paying attention, while Neville often dozed off for a few minutes. If Trelawney happened to raised her voice, his eyes would snap open and he'd mumble a dazed 'yes' or 'no madam'.

Zabini and Malfoy were sitting on the bench before them, so that Harry had a sideways view of what the two of them were up to. On first sight they were staring dutifully at the blackboard, even nodding their head ever so often. With a second take, he could see the white wires of Blaise's metallic blue i-Pod mini trailing to one ear of them both. The head nodding was just a movement in accordance to the song.

Draco was balancing his elbows on the tabletop and had his head cupped in his hands. His fingers were stretched over his cheeks into his hairline, the blonde locks spilling generously between them in tufts. It seemed to Harry that he was chewing on something, what he could not see, but the youth was repeatedly catching something between his lips, and rolling from left to right. There was a little more color in his attire than usual; under his ever-present black t-shirt he wore a long-sleeved green one. Under the table he could be seen tapping his foot to the beat.

When Harry saw him as relaxed as now, all traces of cunning glee gone, it caused a warm, tingling sensation to spread in his stomach and his throat to tighten. He had always been one to first look beyond the physical qualities of another, before even _considering _some sort of romantically interest in them. With Draco it was just impossible, no matter how hard he tried to focus on the bastard's awful personality, he would always experience a sudden lack of air when the blonde and he crossed paths. It went beyond attraction, beyond a simple fantasy. He under went each time again an urge, need, longing, whatever it was, just to _look_ at him, take in the other's terribly enticing features, which was agonizing enough regardless of the fact that he wanted to reach out and…

So far gone Harry had retreated in his mind that he was quite unaware that his blatant staring had not gone quite unnoticed. Finbar, who was seated behind him with Seamus, had caught the wistful glances. Initially he had brushed it off on his being too over-analyzing, but after observing Harry's complete inability to break away his gaze for more than half an hour, he began to get suspicious again. His whole mind was tingling in alarm at the flare of emotions that seemed to swirl in rapid succession in and out of his raven haired friend.

His blue eyes turned to Draco instead, but the photographer's state of being seemed completely blank. Finbar supposed that he could understand Harry's attraction to the blonde, not that he was a good judge of it, but it was hardly deniable that Draco was handsome. It was only normal, probably. Nothing to worry about; not that Finbar would disapprove of any relationship Harry engaged in, it was his life after all. But if this attraction would evolve into something more complicated, he sensed that there'd be great emotion distress for the both of them. Then again, Draco was bonded to Alex at the moment, so it was highly improbable that there was any room for evolvement at all. Unless of course, Draco would, by miracle, reconsider his priorities.

Though quite sure he had figured it out, his senses unceasingly kept on buzzing between his ears. He was missing something here, it told him; something so obvious that he'd be baffled at his own lack of perception if he managed to see it eventually.

Miss. Trelawney's dreamy voice and clinking bracelets brought the whole class suddenly out of their unreceptive state as she moved to stand right in the middle of the whole class, addressing them clearly, instead of narrating some boring anecdotes.

"Okay class, as always there's a project for the first trimester, and I thought to announce it early enough, so that none of you can use the excuse that you hadn't had enough time to finish it. " She was saying, having switched her voice into a very different, business-like one. "This project is similar to the one you've done last year, and this one will, also, count for twenty-five percent of your Christmas exam points."

There was a collective groan from the whole class, and Ron let his forehead bang against the tabletop, already anticipating another timeline or art file, containing the specific artist for each movement in the arts and the distinct features for each one of them, and of course, chronologically ordered from beginning to ending date.

Meanwhile, Trelawny confirmed Ron's miserable thoughts, "You'll be working in pairs -which I will personally assign-; the art file must have _all_ art movements, each with the most prominent artists, techniques, and so on… You will receive a stencil with all details in a moment," she sorted through some papers until she found the list with the couplings, "Listen carefully now, these are the pairings…"

Harry and Ron looked at each other worriedly, fearing it would be dubious that the two of them would end up together.

Pushing her glasses up her nose with a thin finger, causing her eyes to become even more grotesquely magnified, she spoke loudly; "Ronald Weasley and Dean Thomas."

A soft contented sigh left Ron's lips and he slumped more relaxed into his seat. Dean glanced over his shoulder, his pearly whites flickering.

"Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom."

An expression of intense relief washed over Neville's face as though the apocalypse had been nearly prevented, while Hermione smiled benignly at him. She of course, was quite content, because despite for all his flummoxed countenance, he was a hard worker.

"Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson."

Draco's jaw fell unhinged in dismay, eyes wide in horrification. Both Blaise and Alex were regarding him with barefaced concern and the brunette went even as far as patting his friend's shoulder in reassurance. Pansy's big, brown eyes shimmered sharply, a coy smile plying her rose-colored lips.

"Lavender Brown and Blaise Zabini."

Blaise seemed entirely uninterested, Lavender looked put out.

"Harry Potter and Alex Ladon."

_Shit_, was just about all that flashed sharply through his mind. Of all the people available, Trelawney just_ had_ to go and pick Malfoy's girlfriend for his partner. Fate was really, really cruel to him as of late. His 'partner' shot him a questioning glance, apparently unsure of how to feel about this arrangement.

After that Harry paid hardly any attention to the other pairings, trying to gather his wits instead. He would give anything to not be forced to work together with the walking, talking and living reminder that Draco Malfoy was straight.

Eventually the list was completed, and they were given the remainder of the hour some free time to discuss their project with their respective partners and make the appropriate appointments. Soon the room was filed with young voices. Ron was moving around and gathering his stuff to set next to do Dean, giving him an encouraging grin. Meanwhile Alex had reluctantly got up as well, taken a little detour to ruffle Draco's hair (though even to that he seemed completely numb), and took up the seat that Ron had vacated next to Harry.

For a few ticks of the clock they merely stared at one other.

"Eh…Hi." Alex greeted tentatively as she grinned at him in a lopsided way.

Unwittingly, Harry felt the corner of his mouth tug up into a little smile as well, "Hey," he returned dully, staring awkwardly at a page in his textbook.

"So," Alex began again, doing her best to kick the strained conversation into a go, "How d'ya want to work on this?" she asked, tapping a finger on the stencil with the typed-out task on it.

"We could, eh, meet up at the library on the weekend?" he offered, shooting a wary glance in Malfoy's direction, careful not to repeat the scene with Montague. The blonde, however, was staring off blankly into space as Pansy droned on, much like Harry had done on his first school day.

"Yeah sure!" Alex nodded, starting to let go of her anxiousness, "Saturday evenings alright with you? That way we'll have the afternoon free to do as we please; the library closes at nine anyway, and that's time enough. Say we meet there around seven, every Saturday, and we'll be done before way in time."

"Okay, sounds great." Harry nodded in assessment. "And after we've gathered all the information we can work it into the computer."

Alex grimaced somewhat wryly, as she moved to lean heavily on her elbow, her chin cradled in the palm of her hand, "We'll have to use your computer, then, because I haven't got one." She admitted.

"That's okay," he assured her, his face showing nothing of his surprise. Nowadays, who didn't have a computer? But it didn't really matter.

There fell a short silence, one in which Alex had gone staring off through the window, with almost exactly the same longing look Ron had had on his face a good quarter of an hour ago. Harry, on the other hand, had his first real close up from the jumble of the cord-like hairdo Alex was famous –or infamous- for. It reminded him somewhat of the mythological figure of Medusa, who was said to have had snakes for hair. The white treads spilled erratically over the tabletop, ever so often adored with a pearl, a wooden bead, or a silver cuff.

All of a sudden, Alex was looking back at him with those inhuman glowing green eyes of her.

Feeling that the young woman was waiting for him to speak, Harry opened his mouth and let out the first thing that came to mind. "Can I… touch it?" he asked and almost immediately felt himself grow crimson with embarrassment. Hiding his burning face beneath his bangs with an effective tilt of his head, Harry groaned inwardly at his own stupidity.

"Yeah, sure." Alex said with a light laugh in her raw voice, "Don't worry, almost everybody asks that sooner or later. I'm quite used to it by now."

He blinked at her in astonishment, unsure whether or not she was mocking him. Imagine that he did, and she'd go running to Malfoy and accuse him of groping around. That wasn't really the sort of trouble he like would to get in to.

Regarding him with complete sincerity in her eyes, Alex calmly waited.

After one last calculated look, he abandoned all prejudges and reached out to pick one of the dreadlocks of the table. Against all odds, it felt surprisingly soft and clean and was very pliable. "How long have you had them?" he asked, twisting it experimentally between his fingers.

"For as long as I can remember." She answered solemnly. "From when I was just a kid, really."

He frowned at that, "And your parents just let you get away with that?"

Though Alex's devil-may-care grin remained in place, Harry was sure when he looked into her eyes he was seeing the saddest expression to ever be mirrored in the eyes of a human being.

"Yeah, something like that." She said casually.

Just as he was about to apologize for causing her some unknown grief, the bell jangled its noisy signal for the end of the lesson. Alex was up and moving away in a flash. The white knotted length of hair slipped from between his unresponsive fingers.

"See you Saturday, Harry." She called out with one last wink over her shoulder.

"Yeah, see you." he said, staring after her in confusion.

Retreating hastily from the innocent conversation gone wrong, Alex scurried after Draco, whose blonde head could be seen bobbing above the mass off students.

--

He'd fled from the exact moment the hands of his wristwatch had flicked past the last agonizing second of this class. Pansy, though once a friend, had gone and treaded painful ground after lulling him to numbness with her awfully _fascinating _stories about lifting credit cards and diet yogurt. He'd walked into it wide-eyed and she'd nearly had him. Where was Alex when he needed her?

He flew down the seemingly endless flights of stairs until he burst through the entrance doors and onto the enormous stretch off grassy plains that circled the school building. After a few brisk steps over the emerald green lawn, his heart settled down and the restricting feeling melted from his shoulders. Automatically his feet had taken him to a large oak where his friends and he usually sat during recess. Heedless of the green moss-stains it would create on the dark material of his clothes, he rested first his forehead and then the rest of his torso against the rough surface. A shuddering breath left his body.

When would it be over? This damned secrecy, the pretense, the goddamned_ lie_ that he lived in? Deep inside, where only some very few had seen a mere glimpse of it, Draco was heartsick. Despite his closeness with Alex, and the deep-rooted trust he shared with Blaise, he felt awfully alone. To the world, his outer appearance remained the same as it always had been; cold, quick and calculating with a self-righteous sneer. He had worn this mask for so long, that sometimes he'd forgotten who he really was. He had hoped he would forget. Still he remained confident that one day the wrongness of his life could be squashed and he'd fall in love with his best friend. Really in love, not the unidentifiable way of platonic love he had for her. Not the kind he had now, not the wanting to hold safe and close and care for and give his life for he felt towards her. No, he still hoped that one day he would wake up and he'd desire her, wanting to mark her his and die for her every time again, over and over until he had nothing left to give.

But he couldn't.

The mere though made his skin crawl and his mind recoil in disgust.

It felt so wrong to think of her like that and he knew he could never use her like that. The fault in his being however pushed him towards…_others_. And it felt right, so incredibly fucking bloody right that he was sure that it was supposed to be that way. And yet the world, and _he_, especially _that one person_, called it wrong and sick and against the laws of nature.

And just when he was able to settle in this pretense-routine of enjoying his life quite credibly, there were people like Pansy who were just waiting to strike out and break his carefully constructed balance of truthful lies.

Coming up from behind him as silently as a cat, Alex found her friend with his arms wrapped around the tree, as if he were afraid to loose grip on the flare in his being if he'd let go. Or maybe he was trying to sap some strength from the ancient plant, so he could just go on a little longer.

She understood him better than he thought. Not that she experienced the same conflicts, but if you knew how he was so easy to read. Not only that, but she held him so close to her heart that his pain was hers, his joy was hers, and sadly enough there was less of the latter and more of the former. If the stubborn asshole would just listen to her, and _follow_ her advice, it could be so much easier for him.

For a moment she wondered whether or not to broach the subject again, but in his current state she'd only nudge him more into his misery. A light-hearted approach, then; an attempt to divert his whirlwind of contradicting thoughts to something less dire.

"I see you're very much exited about this project." She spoke to his back.

Still leaning his forehead against the hard, uneven texture of the bark, he muttered, "Words cannot hope to capture the mere shadows of my euphoria."

She shook her head with a smile tugging at her lips, and took his responding as a positive sign. At least he was composing himself again, she thought, and rubbed between his shoulder blades comfortingly. "I'll watch after you, I promise."

"You don't need to baby-sit me, Alex." he muttered somewhat snarkily. "You can't even watch after yourself, let alone me."

The words stung, but she let it go, steeling her emotions. Keeping up a civil conversation was like walking across eggshells, the way it always was when Draco was upset. His dealing with the insecurity and his hurts was to lash out, using his tongue as weapon. To Alex, moments like these were some special kind of battle, sidestepping the venomous words and accusations and prod swiftly here and there to coax the problem out of him, trying avoid most of the wounds she invited thus.

"It's not like you even _know_ what it's like." He went on gloomily, "It's not like you're fantasizing about shagging Granger, or something like that."

Alex had to smirk at that," Ah, Draco, but do you know for sure?"

Her friend pulled way from his embrace with the tree, his forehead ceased with the imprints of the bark. "You shagging Granger?" he snorted, "I'd like to see that."

"Yeah, me too." A third voice added.

Draco and Alex didn't need to turn their heads to know it was Blaise who seemed to have materialized out of the shadows the tree cast upon the ground. To make the eerie notion complete, Aasento, his raven, seemed to have located his master during his flights over Hogsmeade and decided to pay him a visit. The large, dark bird was perched upon his shoulder, preening his feathers.

"Every time I leave the two of you alone, I seem to miss out on something interesting." He said with a playful glint dancing in his hazel eyes. "So, what's the occasion?"

Alex just grinned at him, wagging her white eyebrows. "Call of nature, my friend." she said huskily.

"Aw, shit." Draco said suddenly, "That's just gross, okay? I though you had better taste than that. Granger, yuck. She's already been Weasley-fied."

"I hardly doubt it." Blaise countered, having switched to being serious in barely a second. "Those two care too much for one other. He'll wait."

Draco and Alex regarded him curiously for a moment, until Alex quipped, "You're going all Finbar on us Blaise, knock it off, it's creepy."

The dark brown haired youth just gave a half-shrug, causing Aasento to caw in protest and clamp down his talons in his sensitive skin. Glaring reproachfully at the bird he answered, "He _is_ my cousin, so I guess it runs in the family."

"Seems Darragh was last in line when the higher entities were handing out that trait, then." Draco said with a chuckle.

Blaise leveled him with a hard look, "Don't underestimate him, Draco, you'd be sorry."

Surprisingly, Alex was nodding in agreement, "Darragh's all grins and laughs, but he's far more mature and wise than any others his age. Not in such a profound way as Finbar is, but nevertheless…"

As it was, Alex was not only very close with the Zabini side of the family, but as of late she'd grown closer to the Ganad side as well. It had been Darragh that had revealed an immediate liking for the young woman upon meeting her during a secluded family-meeting at their place. As it was during a weekend, Blaise had simply asked for Alex to join them. But eventually it was Finbar who she was closest with from the two. Perhaps not closer than her relationship with Darragh, but _different_… Different in a way Blaise didn't really like. And though he did not mean to feel smug about it, he could not help but feel so about the notion that it was at _his_ place that she spent the weekends, not theirs. He scolded himself inwardly, thinking himself foolish.

He'd lost most of the following discussion that had inevitably formed between Alex and Draco, during his short reverie. It seemed that he'd not only inherited the knowing streak, but also the tendency to let himself be lured into introspection so deep that the world faded for a moment. He was alerted again by the shift of conversation and Aasento's rustle of wings as he settled down for a nap.

"We've missed most of our last course," Alex remarked dryly, as she gazed up to the towering structure of their school.

"No matter." Draco added softly.

Blaise just nodded at that. It was remarkable that all three of them had gathered here, despite their obligations, because one of them was suffering mentally. Oh, yes. He knew what had been going on before he'd arrived. He didn't need to be there at the exact moment to figure that out, it blazed from Draco's storm colored eyes like beacon. If only he wasn't so stubborn. It'd be so much easier.

When at last the final bell rang, and Harry and his friends passed the exact same tree, they had already gone.

--

It was rather chilly, and so he huddled into the collar of the black leather jacked he'd snagged once again from Sirius. He was currently accompanied by Ron, Dean and the two Ganad brothers; for it was tradition that every two weeks Ron and Dean would join supper at Finbar's and his younger brother's family. This time he had been invited.

Darragh was gesturing enthusiastically, after a while he simply whirled around so he was walking backwards. It would probably take only so long before he would trip over something and tumble to the ground. "So anyway, if you guys wouldn't mind, we'll ride through the forest, all the way across until we get to the grounds of the Zabini's. I'm sure they'll have room for just one more pet."

"Wait, I'm not following." Harry remarked.

The young man turned his golden gaze towards the rave, haired youth, "Ah, my apologies. You're still unblemished by our influence." He said in an over-done formal way, complete with bow and all, "Part of the forest that's situated at the edge of Hogsmeade, runs to put it frankly between the Zabini's their backyard and ours. Our houses are at each at the other end of the village; theirs in the fancy side, ours more withdrawn into the countryside. It used to be a farm you know."

"I see. And why are we going to the Zabinis's again?" Harry asked.

Darragh, now walking backwards directly in front of him, replied, "Well, Finbar and I have been searching new homes for abandoned and wounded animals for quite a while, and a few days ago we've been given a ferret into our care. Mom forbids us to shelter any more animals in our house, so we'll be paying a visit to our aunt's and hope they'll have a spot for just one more." He paused, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure he was still walking down the long lane towards the entrance gates, "Of course, if you don't mind; that is."

With half a shrug, Harry looked once wryly into Ron's direction. Despite all appearances, Blaise Zabini still remained Malfoy's closest friend. And they had, all three of them, vanished just before the last hour. It was quite likely that they might have gone off together, doing whatever those three spend their time with.

Half-turning on his heel, Darragh was facing the right way again and currently falling into pace alongside Harry, "Don't worry. Even if Draco's at our cousin's, it shouldn't cause too much trouble." Now it was he who gave a shifty look in the redhead direction, "You'd be surprised how closely the two groups are interlinked through family and friendships, despite…" the golden eyed boy trailed off, one hand churning around in circles as he tried to find his diction, "…their utter contempt for one other. Draco and Ron that is."

Harry raised his dark brows at that, his lightening bolt scar rumpling under his thick fringe.

The other smirked in a fashion that was worthy of Malfoy himself, "You'll be seeing more of Draco than you might've suspected, even though you are Ron's friend."

"Oh," he said quietly. He did not know whether he were happy with it or against it.

"Don't worry," Darragh said cheerfully, "Draco's not so bad once you get to know him." Was his firm and ever startling statement, "But don't let Ron know I told you that."

They looked each other in the eye at that, both of them almost exactly the same height, and grinned synchronically at one other. Now that he had the chance of being so close to Finbar's younger brother, Harry gave him a fleeting one-over. Just like his brother, Darragh had a raw handsome appeal to him. Though he was considerably slighter of build, the same broad-shouldered, rangy look applied to him too. His hair, a glossy chestnut brown, was as wild as Finbar's, though shorter. There had been girls who had called Harry's unruly mop of jet-black hair to have a distinct just-been-shagged look about it. Darragh's was just plain wild, but it suited him all the same. His attire consisted of a black hooded sweater, from which the hood was pulled over his head, with printed on the front a one-up mushroom from wide-known videogame Mario. Covering his long, slender legs were slightly loose, but not overly baggy jeans. There were at least two piercing in plain view; a hoop through left nostril and a stretcher-disc in his left earlobe. From within the shadows that the hood threw upon his face, his unique, golden-colored eyes twinkled at him.

Eyes still lingering on the unknown depths of those eyes, Harry walked alongside his companions through the gates. Harry barely had time to register this fact, because suddenly Darragh was swooped away by a fair-skinned arm.

For a split moment Harry thought it was Malfoy who had locked his lips enthusiastically with Darragh's. In that same moment he felt some unexplainable rage erupt within his chest, one so fierce that it must have flashed out of his emerald green eyes, because the blonde withdrew from Darragh with a haughtily arched eyebrow.

"What?" the fair-haired youth, who was definitely _not_ Draco, barked, but not without an amused expression on his face, "Am I interrupting something?"

Harry did quite an impressive imitation of a fish. That meant… that meant… he was not… and Darragh was too… and they never told him!

The brunette's boyfriend was still squinting at Harry with a rather dark look in his obsidian eyes. Though he shared the same fair skin and blonde hair, the tall length en the lean built, this youth was entirely different from Draco. The thought that slipped into Harry's mind before he could stop it, was; not _nearly_ as gorgeous as Draco.

He wanted to run back and drown himself in Hogwart's Lake. He ought to get Malfoy and his despairingly good looks out of his mind. NOW.

"Eerr…" Darragh grumbled, noticing the tension, "Orion, meet Harry. Harry," he gestured, "Orion, my boyfriend, though that is probably obvious now."

Harry nodded dumbly.

With one last scathing look, Orion seemed to have dismissed Harry as unimportant. He only had eyes for his lover, "Look, I was just passing, so I have to get going now. But I figured I might catch a good snog before I have to get home." The hard look seemed to have melted from his face as though it was unable to express anything other than the sheer warmth and adoration it showed before he dipped his head down again to Darragh's.

Still dumbstruck, Harry let his gaze sweep to his other friends, reading their reactions to this exchange. Ron and Dean seemed not bothered even in the slightest and were discussing some sport. Finbar, on the other hand, was scowling so menacingly at Orion that it made run shivers up and down Harry's spine. Even his attempts to catch his eye didn't work; Finbar seemed to be attempting to bore holes into the back of Orion's skull with the mere ferocity of his glare.

Touching his nose to Darragh's, Orion could be heard murmuring, "Well, I've got to get going." Then he took a resolute step back and away from Darragh, he acknowledged for the first time the presence of the others. He inclined his head when Ron held up a hand in greeting. With Finbar he shared a private staring contest, which the dark haired youth seemed to win.

Orion having departed in a whole other direction, and everybody having gathered their bikes, besides Harry who always came by foot, they continued their walk. Riding up front, Harry had quickly hopped behind on the bicycle of the youngest Ganad, hoping to needle him for information.

"So," he said, trying to sound casual, "Your boyfriend."

Darragh, who was standing up on his pedals to force ahead to weight of them two, murmured with a distinctly uncomfortable tremor in his voice. "Yeah," he breathed, "I'm sorry you found out like this. I hope you're not…well…" his voice faded away miserably.

"I'm not what?" Harry queried sharply.

Though laboring hard on the vehicle, Darragh managed to shrug all the same, "Disgusted. Me being gay and all that."

Completely rendered astonished, Harry mind whirled with the irony of that last sentence. Before he could help himself he burst out in roaring laughter.

"What?" Darragh demanded, trying to look over his shoulder without swiveling the bike too much, "What's so funny?"

"They didn't tell you either?" Harry hiccupped.

"Tell me what?" the other shouted impatiently.

Harry burst out in sniggers again, "Well, so am I!"

"Are you what too?" Darragh wanted to know in obvious confusion. Then it seemed to dawn on him, "Gay? You're gay, too?"

"Yeah!" Harry yelled back still trying to contain his laughter. Darragh's incredibly fast pace made his bangs brush hurriedly across his forehead.

His driver sat down again, halting his pedaling so his bike rushed forth on its own, "Seriously?"

"No, I'm joking." Harry replied sarcastically.

Darragh was positively beaming at him, "And our friends have failed to mention this little detail to you too, then, I reckon?"

"Some friends," Harry snorted, but a wide smile had settled permanently on his face.

Though he was not quite sure why he was so ridiculously elated about this new knowledge, Harry felt much better all the same. At least there would be one person who'd understand him. His other friends might accept him, but this was different, he was so immensely relieved that there might be someone after all who would comprehend his situation. But what made Harry happy the most that it was Darragh, though a fairly new acquaintance to him, for who Harry had taken an immediate liking to.

"This is grand," Darragh was babbling excitedly, "At least I'm not the only poor bastard no more. The others are all accepting and supporting and all that…but knowing someone who's actually _going_ through the same thing is a real relief."

At that exact same moment Ron came speeding up sidelong with them, apparently having caught the last snippet of their conversation, "No offense mates, but why can't you just like boobies with the rest of us? You can't honestly expect me to go all 'Wow, look at that delicious arse on that fucking hot piece of man-meat!'"

"Yes Ron, thanks for the brilliant in-sight. We love you." Darragh muttered sarcastically, but a smile was tugging at his mouth all the same.

Harry was trying to whack Ron on the arm, making his driver curse when it caused the bike to swing precariously. "It's not like we're only checking out every butt, as long as its owner got testicles. Neither like you guys only go for everything with tits either." Harry remarked instead, abandoning his attempts to thump Ron for the moment.

"Thank God, that." Ron snorted, "If it was solely a nipple issue, then we'd be mooning over cows, too."

"Do I even_ want_ to know what you guys are talking about?" Dean asked, coming up beside Harry and Darragh from the right side with his flashy red bike.

"Something about testicles, cows and nipples," Ron answered blithely, "But I'll spare you the details."

"Sounds like a riveting combination," their fifth companion added, "Though I'm reluctant to discover in which context you were using them." Finbar was riding an especially shabby looking mountain bike which might have been midnight blue once, but was covered under such a cake of mud and grass that it was hard to tell. Qualitatively it still seemed to be just fine.

"Testicles and nipples I can understand, but with the addition of cows…" Dean shot them a meaningful look out of the corner of his eyes, "If we arrive at your place and even one of the animals is walking funny, I'm out of there."

In front of Harry, Darragh was shaking his tousle-haired head regretfully, "Sad to hear that, Dean." He said and then pretended to cheer up, straightening himself on the pedals and trusting a fist in the air, "Well, all the more for us, then!"

"What have I gotten myself into...?" Harry inquired himself, but was somewhat staggered to realize that he was actually looking forward to this year. Even if he'd been semi-forced to give up all his friends and the familiar neighborhood he'd spent most of his childhood years in. Having never expected to be accepted into a circle of friends so easily, this came as a right thunderbolt.

Meanwhile they pedaled onwards swiftly, the streets passing for Harry more like a blur. For an instant he'd thought that they needed to be in the 'fancy' side of town, but it was left behind soon enough and the frequency of the houses was starting to diminish. The Ganad's house was not that far out of Hogsmeade, but Harry suspected that it was almost half an hour a ride by bike. No wonder both Finbar and Darragh's tall frames were so sleek-muscled and fit, in the latter's case even athletic, if they indeed made this trip twice almost every day.

Eventually they pulled up on a long sand-covered driveway, having passed through the tall grown hedge which served as natural enclosure of the grounds. Their wheels spurting up trails of dust, they startled several chickens which were running loose on the front-lawn. If that was what you would call the wide stretch of emerald green covered earth that surrounded the picturesque, red-bricked house. Late summer flowers were splattered around in bright burst here and there, and several apple trees were shedding their fruits, spreading an overall impression of tranquility and a sense of being on vacation.

Harry, being a city boy, was very impressed with it all and was running short on extra eyes to take it in all. Somewhere sheep were bleating and ducks quacking in a noisy chorus. An open, wooden shed adjoining the house was where they left their bikes, resting them against the ivy grown wall, careful of the small jeep that was parked underneath it as well.

"Let's go round the back," Finbar suggested, "We can leave our shoes there so we won't muddy the hallway." As he said that, very small drops of rain left their dark imprints on the sand, evidence that it was drizzling somewhat.

Turning the corner of the house into the backyard, they were greeted by a squadron of loudly barking, leaping and enthusiastically tail-wagging dogs. Seeing the reaction of Ron and Dean, who were ruffling the canines behind their ears with big grins on their faces, Harry calmly reached out to pet one, too, and was promptly rewarded by wet slobbering all over his face. Finbar told them their names and all, but their four of them and he failed to remember.

As said, dogs were dismissed, and they left their footwear dutifully on the wooden porch, sheltered once again by a shed. With Darragh opening the door, they grouped into a kitchen, startling a feminine person tending to the bubbling cooking pots and sizzling pans.

"Oh my," she exclaimed, "I didn't hear you guys coming. Come in, come in already, it's starting to rain."

"It won't break through, mom," Finbar assured her, as he resolutely pushed a reluctant Harry further into the kitchen. "It's just a squall. Besides, we still have to go over to Blaise's anyway, for that ferret."

The woman finally turned around completely, tossing her thick mane of russet colored hair over her shoulder with a practiced flick of her head. It was obvious from who the two brothers had gotten their good looks. Serene Ganad had a tall, slender figure for a woman her age, which was shown off in a tidy, white button-up blouse and streamlined jeans. Almond shaped brow eyes were lashed heavily, and she had attractive full lips from which her sons had inherited the masculine version.

"Hi, Mrs. Ganad." Ron greeted politely, while Dean waved, grinning.

Serene clucked her tongue at him, "Please, Ron, just call me Serene, Mrs. Ganad makes me feel old."

"Thanks again Serene, force of habit, I guess." Ron said, making more room for Harry and Dean in the over-crowed kitchen by shuffling towards the door which led to the living room.

"You're not old," Darragh murmured as he went to stand besides her, bending down to peck her on the cheek. Though his mother had appeared tall on first sight, next to her youngest son it still cost a head in difference. Next to the towering frame of Finbar however, who came up by her on the other side, she seemed genuinely petite.

"What are you cooking?" the dark headed of the two asked, lifting the lid curiously.

Serene batted at Finbar's hands, "Shoo, be gone. You'll see in half an hour or so. You guys must have flown over here; I've never expected you all to be here so soon. Weren't you bringing someone else, too, I haven't-"

Her warm smile froze on her face as she as she got her first good look at Harry. "Oh there you are. You don't have to hide behind Dean, I don't bite…"

"Much." Finbar added under his breath, but not soft enough because he still earned a playful cuff against his ear.

"Yeah, and guess what?" Darragh announced loudly, throwing an arm around the raven haired youth's shoulders, "he's gay too!"

Serene arched an eyebrow at that, trying to cover a kind smile at Harry indignant protests.

"Yes, thank you, Darragh, why don't you shout it from the rooftops." He grumbled, having anchored his eyes to the pristine tiles of the kitchen.

Chuckling merrily now, Serene said, "Oh don't you worry, dear. Nobody will hear it from me, nor does it bother me. Darragh's just not very subtle, I'm afraid." She confided with a wink.

"No kidding." Harry responded dryly, poking Darragh sharply in the ribs, extracting a startled yelp.

"But my, you're a handsome one." She praised, giving Harry a shrewd look, "Can I hope he might be your type, Darragh dear?" She asked her son, looking truthfully hopeful.

Harry spluttered something unintelligible, while Ron and Dean were muffling their snickering into the collars of their shirts.

"Maybe one day," the golden eyed boy replied in a rather serious tone, slinging an arm firmly in place around Harry's middle, "If he stops playing hard to get."

"Better don't Darragh," Finbar interrupted, as he distributed cans of soda to his friends, "I'd hate to have to kill Harry. I rather like him."

Mentioned youth swallowed convulsively, the memory of Finbar's wrathful glare directed at his brother's boyfriend still fresh in mind.

"No thanks," he laughed, "with my life at stake, I think I'll pass. No offense." Harry spoke, patting Darragh regretfully on the shoulder.

The other grinned back at him, "None taken. Besides the current one is doing just fine."

"Not until I'm finished with him," Finbar ground out ominously as he trust a can into Harry's hand. His brother just ignored him.

"Well, why don't you show Harry around? I'm sure he'll be visiting more often in the future and I want him to feel at home." Serene voiced loudly, skillfully covering the exchange, "I'll call you when supper's done, now off you go."

This time Harry found himself in company of Finbar and Ron, while Darragh and Dean disappeared somewhere during their trek up the stairs. As the exterior, this inside was just as warm and bright, dominated by wooden furniture and many potted plants tucked in corner and on windowsills. The house was scented suspiciously after patchouli incense. Finbar, after having shown Harry the most important things he needed to know –like the bathroom-, led them all the way up to the attic, which had been transformed into a spacious room.

Though Harry had suspected Finbar to be tidy, he was quite wrong; scattered around the place were various things like sweaters, books and scraps of paper, but it was not as bad as his room was. The walls had maintained the original wooden interior, and the slabs of concrete wall that were present were painted a broken white. Sober, black furniture was arranged throughout the place, with light gray tiles covering the floor. Despite this basic furnishing, Finbar's room was a scattering of bright colors of all shades, turning it seemingly into a visual representative of his personality. His bed was tucked underneath a wide window, many pillows piled at the head-end and more than one duvet covering the mattress. A rug with a Mexican print covered the wall at far end of the room, with similar looking small rugs placed strategically around the room on the floor. Also, he spotted an African mask somewhere, a wind chime near the window, and a poster of a naked young woman, looking over her shoulder at the spectator, her back one endless pattern of tattoos and piercings. A simply huge bookcase was what sprung out mostly, and though its size, it seemed that it had already reached its limit of storing books. On one of the shelves, at eye-height, a whole row of pictures had drawn Harry's attention and he walked over –mindful of the few objects on the ground- to study them.

Never before had he seen such beautiful pictures. One of them, apparently recent, was of Darragh and Alex, their faces pressed close together to fit in front of the lens. Their hair clashed violently in a confrontation of brown and white and their eyes even more so vibrant in gold and green. Both were grinning happily. Another one was of Zabini, who seemed a whole different person as he was captured on that square of photo; he was lying shirtless on his stomach in a sea of deep green grass, wearing overly faded and slightly torn jeans, his hair looking somewhat damp and much more curlier than usual. Before him lay several sheets of scribble-covered paper, and Blaise was looking up from them, squinting against the sun and smiling. There was a picture of his mother, Serene, who was giving the bottle to a lamb and one of three girls Harry did not recognize. One of them was black haired, which tumbled around her head in short, loose curls, the second one a dark blonde with blue eyes and the last a young child with flaxen hair in pigtails and twinkling gray eyes. Another showed a much younger Finbar and Ron grinning dumbly at the photographer, with Ron at the time much taller, thinner and awkward looking than now, and Finbar slightly less taller than the redhead, very thin and long-limbed and gangly. His black hair was half of what it now was, and barely fitted into the ponytail that kept it together. The enormous black tribal was missing, too. There were so many more yet, but Harry was startled back to reality by movement behind him.

"These pictures… there so…amazing." He spoke breathlessly, as he turned towards Finbar who was gathering the stray objects and putting them where they belonged.

Finbar flapped a book closed, making sure he marked the page he'd left off, and then looked up at Harry a distinctly mysterious gleam in his light blue eyes. "Draco made them." He said simply.

All the breath left his lungs in a surge of air, as if some unknown force had knocked it out of him. Draco Malfoy made those photographs? They were simply marvelous. Could a person who seemed so entirely devoid of any positive emotion have such a sense for plain and perfect beauty? It seemed nearly impossible to Harry. Surely a passionate person such as Finbar or Dean and even Ron could manage such a feat, but Malfoy? He just seemed so hard-hearted and forbidding for that. Still open-mouthed he whirled his head back to the shelve with its pictures. Neither of them were snapped with thrilling effects nor views, but were just enchanted with natural elements such as the sun or the environment at a certain angle, or simply the _person_. It seemed that Draco had somehow magically succeeded in capturing the very essence of the person it portrayed, but the mere notion seemed virtually impossible.

"Really?" he managed in a small voice.

Finbar nodded, his thick curtain of black hair covering the whole left side of his handsome face as he did so. "Well, yeah," he said, "Draco's in Photography after all."

"Oh," Harry exhaled softly, "I though he was in Zabini's class, them being friends and all."

"Nope, Blaise follows Journalism, like Hermione. He and Draco only became friends some while after Malfoy transferred to Hogwarts."

"Oh," Harry said again, and wanted to ask more, but did not. It would seem suspicious indeed if he expressed too much interest in the blonde.

But Finbar was still watching with those standout blue eyes of him, his gaze piercingly intense. It made Harry feel as if he were stripping him of every corporal aspect of his being until he had bared the very core of his soul and was reading the feelings that were displayed open and bare there.

The disturbing moment was perfectly wrecked when Ron groaned loudly, "Hungry…" and made Harry burst out in laughter.

--

The hands of Harry's wristwatch were edging towards seven in the evening when the boys found themselves bicycling into the vast expanse of the woodlands that were natural border of the Ganad's backyard. This time around it was Harry who was pedaling, Dean behind him, for he had a far better physical condition than the Afro-American. Darragh and Finbar were leading, the former leaning with his elbows on his steer, and the latter handless.

Ron was talking about the festival fair that was being held at the beginning of next month.

"You really ought to join us, honestly." He declared, not nearly as breathless as Harry, "You've got the usual stuff, haunted mansions, shooter-stand, food, candy and all that rot, but there are some shows as well. There'll be a Knight-show, and Darragh, who fences by the way, will do a small demonstration. Afterwards there are fireworks, so it's worth your time."

Standing upright to force more weight on the pedals to propel Dean's and his own weight ahead, Harry huffed, "Yeah sure, I'll go. Sound like fun."

"Yeah it is," Dean agreed from behind him, "and it's just about the only thing worth mentioning that happens around here in Hogsmeade."

Harry snorted, and said, "I'll ask Sirius, too. I bet he'll like this whole event."

"And he'd prepared to hang out with us?" Ron questioned, his short hair whirling around his head like the brave flickering of a flame.

"He'll probably go with Remus," Harry answered, "perhaps they might even get as far as finally confessing to one other."

Red eyebrows arched upwards in confusion, "Confess what?"

"I knew it." Dean muttered, a small grin tugging at his lips, "I was never sure, but I've always… So he's really…?" he trailed off and leaned sideways to look at the side of Harry's face.

"Oh yeah." The raven haired youth confirmed. "Oh yeah, he is."

It seemed that Ron was still unable to get the obvious and was unhappy to be left out of the loop. "What? He's what?" he demanded.

"Gay!" Darragh shouted from up ahead, without looking over his shoulder "Lupin's gay."

"What?" Ron exclaimed, his bike veering sharply sideways, nearly ramming straight into a tree. He was struggling furiously for a few seconds before he had recovered enough to go on, "He's gay, too?"

"What do you mean, _gay too_?" Dean frowned at his friend.

The other gestured vaguely into the air, "Well, it used to be just Darragh you know, but suddenly it seems I've been surrounded by gay people since Harry here showed up." He said jokingly and added, "No offense, mate."

"None taken." Harry replied automatically.

"You know what sucks though?" Dean spoke up rhetorically, "There don't seem to be any lesbians around."

The messy dark mop of Harry whipped into his eyes as he glanced at Dean behind him, "What do you need lesbians for? S'not like it's of any use to you guys."

"Oh, but you're wrong there mate," Dean countered gravely, "I think it's safe to say that it's the general sexual fantasy of any hetero guy to see two women together."

Harry blinked at that, opened his mouth to say something and then decided against it. Really now, straight guys were odd.

"You know what'd be sexy, too?" Ron suggested, his blue eyes twinkling, "Twins."

Finbar up front turned around and said dryly, "So, basically, you'd find your brothers messing together sexy."

It appeared than Ron got a spontaneous seizure, "Are you _MAD_? Fuck Finbar, you know I meant female twins. Oh gods, _YUCK_. I need to go and wash my brain with soap now, thank you."

"I'd find you're brothers making out sexy." Darragh added in casually, still not having looked around.

Ron seemed to be retching, while Finbar rolled his eyes.

Dean was rubbing his temples, "You know; this conversation is _wrong_. I quit."

"Oh no, Thomas, no quitting. You're going down with us." Darragh professed cheerfully.

Their trip took them deep through the forest, and what little of the watery sun that filtered through the leaved canopy cast dapples of sun on the company that passed through. The ferret, which was the whole point of this ride, scuttled nervously through its cage. At times, though Finbar tried hard to avoid it, the bike got jarred and the small mammal's nails could be heard scrambling over the small square of bottom of its cage as it attempted to get a hold. It was an albino ferret and a rather anti-social one at that. It tolerated Finbar and Darragh, ignored Dean and even bit Ron. It did, however, like Harry. Of course the golden eyed boy had immediately suggested that if he wanted they'd be glad to have him take it home with him, since the ferret seemed to be rather fond of Harry. Having to decline at that was the only option, because Harry was pretty sure that Nyoka would think it an especially fuzzy meal.

"We're almost there now," Finbar told them, "Another fifteen minutes, I'd guess. Keep your eyes on the trail, it's somewhat narrow and I'd rather not see any of you drive into the lake today."

Harry, who brought up the rear, glanced to the right to see the softly glittering surface of a broad and dark lake. Here and there duck and other water birds squabbled, nestling in the thickets at the pale-sand colored shores. It was still misting somewhat rain, the clammy sort, which was hot and sticky and gathered in tiny drops of liquid on your hair. The earthy, pungent smell of the forest filled the young lads' nostrils at every intake of breath, and suddenly all silly talk had come to a stop, the deep, soothing feel of the elements surrounding them blanketing them in a strange tranquility.

Every so often he needed to pluck his spectacles from his nose and mob them clear of the film of wetness that gathered on the glasses. His dark hair was heavy and sagging against his forehead, crystalline droplets clinging at the dark surface. He followed the others, guided by Ron's bright hair, the route taking them circling around at the very edge of the lakeside, only a small layer of bushes and gnarled trees separating them from the surface of the water. Swans glided out from the air to touch gracefully down up on the obsidian mirror of the lake, creating ripples of water that lapped hungrily at the bank. The long necked birds ruffled their feathers and settled down, tucking their beaks between their snowy white coats.

Then Harry noticed movement at the rim of the lake just around the bend, a big dark, looming presence that he could not discern, accompanied by the skin-pale body of a scarcely dressed human. Just as he was squinting between the foliage, in hope to discover something more, Darragh spoke up ponderously.

"I think we've found our cousin and his comrades." He said.

Harry felt his heart both sink for a moment and then throb painfully back to life. Cousin. That should be Zabini. Comrades. Those could only be Ladon and… Malfoy. Suddenly he felt nervous, and a squeezing feeling undulated in his chest, licking down to his stomach. Angrily he flexed his jaw, pressing his teeth together and frowning slightly.

And just as Darragh had deduced, as they came round the final curve, three youngsters came into view. The pale body was obviously Malfoy's, and the dark blotch explained itself to be the huge towering form of a horse. Already they were slowing down, with Finbar swinging nimbly of his bike, parking it carefully against a tree and making sure the cage of the ferret was secured. Then, as the others began to pull to a stop, Finbar was already approaching the trio who were standing down by the water. Pausing long enough to allow Dean to clamber off the baggage holder, Harry stood watching with great curiosity as to what was going on. There was a combination of four things that puzzled him: a great black horse, another, strangely colored sturdy pony, a small rowing boat and the fact that the three friends were equipped not so much more as in a bathing suit.

Now Harry, too, was stepping cautiously closer to the odd assembly of young people and their equines. Ron, of course was the only who remained stubbornly on his bike, looking anywhere but at where the others were gathering. Momentarily Harry pondered remaining faithfully by his friend, but even he found that the redhead was too easily offended. Surely just standing next to the brothers' sides listening to the conversation would be alright.

Afterwards, he would be regretting this decision heavily. Of the whole company there was only one thing that drew his attention, the fair-skinned figure of Draco Malfoy, harshly contrasting the dark fur of the horse that he was holding. On top of it all he was wearing nothing save for knee-long swinging shorts. Only now did Harry see how tall he actually was, his frame lightly muscled and yet rather thin, but still from the very moment he laid eyes on the blonde a warm flush spread all over his body. It began from his cheeks, which heated up and colored a glowing red, spreading to his neck, the heat however continued to intensify so greatly that he even began to feel lightheaded.

"Ah, man, Alex, Blaise, hurry up." Draco ground out from between clattering teeth, "My bollocks are freezing off here."

Draco was loosely gripping the two halter ropes, the great equines waiting faithfully for their two-legged care-takers to finish whatever silly thing they were doing now. Alex and Blaise however were bodily dragging the small rowboat from between the bushes were they had concealed and locked it to an iron pin in a thick stone to the water. Both of them were also wearing a swimming outfit, Alex a very simple, but even more so flattering black bikini, and Blaise dark brown swimming shorts. Finbar, upon reaching them promptly helped them carrying it to the shore of the lake, with Darragh trailing behind with the oars under his arm.

"What are you guys doing?" Harry found himself asking Draco despite himself, blinking at how the others were struggling with the boat. He tried hard not to stare, but he was afraid that even Malfoy was catching one too many of his wistful looks.

The blonde, who had his arms wrapped around himself, shivering with the early autumn cold, had a grim set to his face. "Swimming." He said with clattering teeth.

Harry waited patiently for more, regarding how Blaise was wading knee deep into the water, pushing the boat ahead of him, testing whether it still functioned. From the edge of the shore, Alex supervised him worriedly, buxom chest still heaving with effort from the transport.

"Rumor here's got a joint in his hind leg that's been giving him trouble, and the vet told us that he'd need hydrotherapy. But since neither of us actually owns a swimming-pool for horses, we've come to the lake." Draco elaborated in his hoarse tenor, gingerly rubbing his arms to take the bite of the cold and edging closer to the warm body of the stallion.

"Oh," he found himself saying yet again, and though himself the king of articulate responses. He forced himself to add something useful to it, and since he had not understood what Draco had garbled about the horse he chose to change the subject, "So that's why you guys left earlier today?"

For the first time Draco actually inclined his head at him, "Actually, no. But the extra time off was, as you can see, useful. But no, that wasn't why we left." he murmured, "Why ask? Missed us or something?"

Harry pulled off a pretty convincing sneer, "Not really, no. 'Twas kind of blissfully calm without you around."

The other just scoffed, but didn't seem all too bothered. Meanwhile he handed over the second rope to Alex, and the pony followed faithfully behind the young woman towards the waterside. The one she led was distinctly less high than the black steed, and had a golden beige fur, with an odd mix of white and black many that hung shaggily around its neck and head. The Equine Draco was holding was tall and forbidding, and while black opposed to white, the stallion had the same sort of aura as youth that was standing beside it. Both had that mysterious, dangerous, and yet fascinatingly beauty about them. Instead of starting at Draco's wonderful body, Harry forced himself to gaze at the horse.

"Never seen a horse before, Potter?" Draco asked, but his tone didn't have a real bite to it.

Harry shook his head, "Actually, no, not from this close. I grew up in the heart of London, you know. And while I know how a horse looks, I haven't really been so close to one."

The other nodded almost understandingly, "You can touch him, you know. He won't harm you, trust me."

Eyes the color of peridot made contact with ones that had the color of a fiery storm gathering at a clear sky. _Trust me._ Harry wanted to laugh at the blonde's foolish suggestion, but at the same time wanted to do very badly so. For a moment he let himself imagine how it would be to _feel _Draco, how his kiss would be. Would he be demanding and selfish, as hard and cruel as he so frequently behaved himself?

Still he found his feet taking a step closer and his right hand lifting from where it had been idle at his side. Rumor tossed his head in a proud, haughtily gesture, and reminded Harry instantly of the youth who was restraining it.

"Easy, boy." Draco breathed softly, his hand stroking soothingly over the strong, sleek-muscled neck.

Harry was almost jealous of the horse for a moment, but then his fingertips made contact with the soft velvet of Rumor nose, and the long narrow face lowered itself to allow better caressing height. He'd never had a thing for horses, really, more for snakes, but Rumor was different. He was so regal in the way he held himself, intimidating even, but when the stallion looked at Harry with those big, brown eyes of him, the youth felt his lips melt into a smile.

"He's beautiful." He whispered softly, reaching out more boldly now to slide his hand along to side of the cheeks, slipping under Rumor's halter carefully. Then he let his fingers tickle along the graceful curve of the neck, the black pelt almost like silk to touch. Before he actually registered it, his fingers had tangled into the soft mane, and met those of Draco's, who had been reassuring the horse all along. Pale fingers slipped over tanned ones in the manner of a loving touch, warm and steady despite their appearance.

Harry heart leapt into his throat exactly the same moment as he looked into Draco suddenly blue instead of guarded gray eyes. Both recognized what was happening, and Harry withdrew his hand as if burned, yet weary of Rumor whom he might startle with an unexpected movement.

"See," Draco said hoarsely, desperate to break the pregnant silence and act as if he hadn't even noticed, "told you, you could trust me." Even as if left his lips, he closed his eyes. Why had he said that?

"Heh," was the dark haired boy's only answer.

But then it was all over as Zabini called out to his friend, "All set now, Draco. You coming?"

"You're actually going to swim?" Harry said in tones that suggested Malfoy must be mad to even consider doing so, "In there?"

The other rolled his eyes, "Yeah, didn't I just say so? Besides, the temperature in the water is much better than above. Still warm from summer, you see."

"Oh," came out again, and Harry wanted to kick himself. Surely Draco must think him an imbecile, "I didn't know." he added sheepishly.

By the Gods, was he glad that their conversation was fairly private, he couldn't even bare to think about Ron's reaction to all this. Not to mention Finbar's. He would have seen what was going on in a finger snap. Wolfman and his Sixth Sense were bad business if he wanted to keep his pubertal obsession with Draco Malfoy secret.

"Well, here we go. C'mon boy." Draco coaxed, starting to move away from where they had been sharing space together.

Harry was left standing alone, wondering what had just happened. He witnessed how Zabini, whom, he though surreptitiously to himself, had a very nice body indeed, stepped into the boat and rowed expertly a short distance into the lake. Standing with her pony waist-deep into the water, Alex waited for her blonde male friend to convince Rumor to follow him into the depths of the lake. He had slung an arm around the horse's neck, rubbing him behind an ear while whispering hushed words that made the equine's ears twitch in response.

Finally, Rumor gave up and almost tiptoed into the water quite reluctantly, not very enthusiastic about his early evening swim to smooth his injured hind leg. Alex's chubby pony on the other hand was making a heartwarming display of pawing heartily at the water, kicking up foaming gusts of wetness that had the dread head drenched before she had even submerged.

Still watching he made himself walk over to Finbar, "Why two horses?"

Finbar, who was having trouble not admiring Alex too explicitly in her revealing swimwear, answered, "Most horses are more at ease with another one at its side. Falkor, that's the pony Alex is holding, is quite a devoted swimmer and will most likely put Rumor at ease."

Biting back another 'oh' Harry just nodded, as he now saw Draco swimming with apparent skill through the dark waters of the lake, Rumor bobbing behind him, the bottom gone under his hoofs. The second horse, Falkor, paddled besides Alex quite contently, flanking the black stallion at a safe distance.

"Well, I asked Blaise about the ferret and he doesn't mind, but we should ask our aunt nevertheless, so lets be off, shall we?" Darragh informed them, patting Harry on the head as he walked by.

"Yeah, lets." Harry echoed quietly, tearing his eyes away from the lake that was cradled in the depths of these woods with its odd occupants.

At long last however, they did reach the Zabini's villa. And Harry was swept away in awe at so much luxury. The ground surrounding the stately house was eye-widening, making one wonder who could afford to spend such a sum of money. They entered through a huge black Victorian-styled gate at the side of the lush gardens, for which Finbar produced a key to open it. Pedaling through the garden, mindful of the perfectly tended after flowerbeds, they sped towards the back. There they stored their bikes away in a garage. Harry's definition of garage was a workplace, darkened with smear of oil and rough, dark sand, smelling of grease and cars. In the Zabini's garage however he would have slept on the floor without thinking twice about it.

Upon entering a strange house for the second time that day, they now were greeted by not dogs, but something entirely else. The door creaked open before Darragh could touch his fingers to the handle, and out came a tiny, blonde haired girl in a blue dress.

"Darragh!" she squealed in delight and latched herself onto his leg before he had time to even attempt to stop her.

The chestnut haired youth didn't seem to mind at all, and greeted his niece with the same enthusiasm. "Heya, April!" he greeted with an encouraging smile as the child caught sight of the three strangers standing somewhat awkwardly behind Finbar. "Say, would you know were our auntie Brinn is? We've got a new friend for you."

Finbar was kneeling besides his brother now, getting a share in the hugs as the child planted a firm kiss on his cheek. Embracing the child with one arm, he angled the cage where the distressed ferret sat in cage at his niece. "What do you think of him? Would your mom let you girls keep him?"

"Oh!" she breathed her tiny nose almost poking through the small grating bars of the cage as April leaned with child-like fascination towards the creature, "Wow, he's so white."

"Hmm-hm." Finbar hummed agreeably, "He's an albino. All albinos are white. "

April, who Finbar was carrying effortlessly on one arm into the house, answered with the confidence only a five-year-old could, "So Draco's an albino too."

The five young men burst out in spontaneous laughter at that, and Darragh tweaked her pigtail gently, "You could be right about that yet, April." He chuckled appreciatively.

It came to Harry that it was somewhat odd that he got to meet the family of some guy he hardly knew, but Blaise's family displayed unexpected warmth to the visitors which Harry had not quite expected. Brinn was the name of his schoolmate's mother, he learned, and the aunt of two of his new, closer friends. She welcomed them with a dazzling smile at Ron, Harry and Dean, and a resounding kiss on both her nephews' cheeks.

Having been offered drinks and home-baked cookies, the five young men sat gathered at the kitchen table, the cage with the ferret inside in the middle of the table. Mrs. Zabini was making coffee.

"Did you lads happen to see my son and his two friends? Thy were home early and went down to exercise Rumor." She asked, as her delicate hands moved steadily as the prepared the refreshments.

"Uh-huh," Darragh nodded, "everything fine over there."

"That's good to hear," she replied with typical motherly concern, "Oh April, dear, don't bother Mister Thomas, come sit here." She chided gently, patting on a high chair next to her.

Dean waved it away with a flicking grin, "Oh, it's alright, M'am. I don't mind at all." he bounced his knees rhythmically, April having a fit of giggles as he did so.

"Okay, then, that's nice of you." Brinn said, smiles coming easy to her beautiful face. Something her son did not seem to have in common. "Are you friends of Blaise's?" she asked them.

"Uh, no, not really, I'm afraid. We only share few classes with him." Dean admitted politely.

"Not to mention that Ron here," said Darragh, jabbing his red-haired companion with an elbow, "Has been at war with Draco for as long as we've known."

"He started it." Said person blurted gracelessly before he could help himself.

Brinn had that special sort of smile on her face, both kind and slightly rebuking, something only mothers could pull off, "But that's too bad, Draco's such a fine young man. Hasn't had it very easy, you just have to be patient and let him warm to you. I know he isn't one of the easiest, but he can offer much more than he pretends to." The woman said in fond tones, almost as if she were talking about a child of her own.

"Fine, whatever." Ron grunted softly under his breath so only Harry heard him, "He's misunderstood. I feel for him." The color in his voice was scathing and mocking, and Ron crossed his arms moodily over his chest.

Harry gave him a strengthening pat on a knee, knowing that Ron was just about sick of always having to receive the blame for the rivalry, though Harry had seen quite enough examples as of late that it was usually Malfoy who provoked. And Ron who always naively took the bait.

"Anyway," Finbar interrupted tactfully, "About the ferret…" he trailed off peering hopefully through thick black hair that the answer would be positive.

"Oh, Finbar, honey, I don't know." Brinn said on a deep sigh, "We've already got so many animals here. And I'm sure not going to clean its cage and take care of it. But the girls got their cats, Blaise his raven, the horses and at times Napoleon, I'm not sure if anyone's going to volunteer."

"But if one of the girls does, would it be alright for it to stay?" Darragh pressed with a twinkle in his golden eyes.

"I guess, but!" she raised her voice, looking mildly at her youngest daughter, "Only if it's either Datum or Jinx, you'll have to ask them. No, April, sweetie, you're too young for, -no, I'm sorry." She silenced her child petulant protests with firm voice, booking no further argument.

The dilemma was quickly settled however, when the second youngest daughter, who bore a striking resemblance to her brother, was all too happy to take the ferret under her care. It was Jinx that took up her mother's place at the table in the kitchen, nipping at green tea, with the boys, the seven of them –April included- thinking of a suitable name.

By now they had freed it from the small confinements of its cage and it scuttled curiously over the table, but frequently sought out the cover of either Harry or Jinx, whom it had decided to like. Just as well, of course.

"Bounty," Ron suggest, reaching out to tentatively stroke its soft pelt as the ferret snuggled against Harry.

"Enough with the food already." Dean said with a playful scuff against Ron's ear, "You hungry already again?"

In his lessening of attention, the ferret took its chance to lunge at Ron's outstretched finger and dig its tiny teeth into the limb."

"Bloody fuck!" Ron bellowed, "You nasty little bugger!"

"Language!" Jinx hissed, but her hazel eyes twinkled with amusement, "Don't let April hear it, she has a remarkable memory when it comes to four letter words."

Said little girl was curled up quite comfortably on Dean's lap, thumb popped between her rosy lips and sleeping soundlessly. The dark skinned youth, who himself came from a many-numbered family, was entirely used to this, and was naturally good with children.

"He really doesn't seem to like Ron, though." Darragh observer with a startled sort of expression, "Just like Dr-…" he trailed off, a positively huge, wolfish grin capturing his features.

His cousin seemed to have read his mind, "Draco." They both concluded in unison, Jinx's grin as disturbing as Darragh's.

As if sensing the importance of the moment, the furry white creature poked its head from between the folds of Harry's vest where it had been making itself comfortable. Harry had to snort and shake his head.

"Draco it is then."

---

Title credits go to Red Hot Chili Pepers – Scar Tissue.

This chapter has not yet been beta-ed!


	7. Eple

**Disclaimer: **I do_ not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

THIS STORY HAS BEEN RE-WRITTEN! EVERYTHING! SO READ IT AGAIN DAMN IT!

**Chapter Seven – Eple**

"_Tell me Draco, dear. Is he the one starring your lonely wet dreams lately?" –Alex Ladon_

Hermione Granger had always been known as the patient, collected and rational kind of girl. And she was, honestly. She had to be if her relationship with the hot-headed Ron Weasley was to work. It was also necessary if she wanted to pull this year's Journalism off. It helped her also with being just about the only girl in an all-boys circle of friends.

Today, however, Hermione really did have the urge to pick up the freshly sharpened pencil that lay before her on the bench and thrust it all the way up, through her nose, into her brain. And twirl it around.

It was bad enough that Dumbledore had picked her as one of the two that would lead this year's Halloween Ball. It was even worse that right now at the moment she and her infamous partner were seated side by side at a bench, judging a series of volunteers that had applied for being on the live-music band, just like those imbeciles at _Idols_. The latter being a program, by the way, that sickened her. But it was absolutely horrendous that through some ungodly twisted connection in Dumbledore's brain he had chosen her partner to be Draco Malfoy.

"That's absolutely terrible, my dear, though it might flatter a pair of elephants during mating season. No, I'm so sorry, off you go then."

The previously bold-looking girl with long, dark hair, who, Hermione saw by looking at her entry list, went by the name of Romilda Vane burst out in tears of hurt pride and deep shame before fleeing out through the door into the hallway. She nearly barreled into an especially venomous looking Blaise Zabini who strode in as he was next up. The list of participants, obviously, was not ordered alphabetically, but in order of sign up.

"Was that necessary?" Hermione hissed under her breath at Draco, who was leaning back on his chair quite lazily indeed.

"The truth hurts, Granger, and I am kind enough to let the daft child know it, if her friends will not." The blonde drawled at her as he crossed out Romilda's name on the list. "I would be cruel to let her go on believing she can _actually sing_. Besides anyone who chooses to sing a song of Britney Spear is on my 'not-over-my-dead-body'-list."

The pencil snapped between Hermione's furiously clenched fingers.

"Oh, come on, Granger." Draco clucked at her, plucking a new one out of his backpack for her, "Lighten up. I find this quite amusing."

Taking a laborious, trembling breath, Hermione instructed herself to calm down. Honestly, if it were not for the fact that they were both in charge of the event and that Draco was one of their best male vocalists, she'd already… she didn't know what she'd do, but it'd be painful indeed.

"You," She declared, emphasizing the pronoun by pointing at him with a condemning finger, "are hopeless."

"That's the spirit." The blonde photographer smirked, "Now, then, on we go… Ah, Blaise. No needs to show me, just move along, you're accepted."

The Italian, who had already relieved his violin from the case and was tapping his foot impatiently, raised an eyebrow.

Hermione nearly pummeled Draco right there and then. "Not a chance. Zabini stay. Malfoy shut up."

"Gods Granger, what has crawled up into your bum and died?" Blaise responded casually, as he rested his cheek against the base of the instrument, thusly clenching it between shoulder and head.

"Do we even want to know?" Draco snorted rhetorically.

Hermione made a zipping motion with one hand to signify that she was through discussing it. Draco held up his hands innocently just as the first trembling notes of music stirred the air between the both of them. Both of the panel shut up their squabbling and turned towards Blaise with interest.

Eyes closed in deep-rooted concentration, back as straight as a rod, Blaise Zabini coaxed the beginnings of a sweet, yet fierce shivering melody from the violin. He always improvised, never following a neatly studied verse. From when he'd been physically ready to hold an instrument his parents had herded him off to music classes. At the age of fourteen he's learned there all they had been able to learn him, and he discovered more yet on his own. He barely displayed this talent publicly, for to him it was almost a private past time. Usually he picked up his violin when he needed to let of some steam; he'd go out into the fields that stretched out besides the forest behind their manor and there he'd construct almost violent torrents of music that almost nobody heard. It was on Draco's request, with what ridiculous Halloween event, that he'd conceded to go along with it for once.

He did not know how long he'd been playing, for a sweet few moments Blaise had withdrawn completely into the lovely ebb and flow of the violin's voice. When he dazedly re-opened his hazel eyes, he found Draco smiling at him from behind the interlaced fingers he was leaning on and Granger inhaling air in open-mouthed disbelief.

For the better of a whole two minutes he stood there in an uncomfortable silence.

"Can I go now?" he asked at last.

Draco was still smirking to himself when his female partner came back to reality, "Oh, yes. Thank you, Blaise. We'll be expecting you."

"If you say so." Blaise retorted with a half shrug, but with a touch of relief in his voice. Unlike that of his cousin's, Finbar, Blaise's voice was not nearly as deep. It was baritone yet still, but the rumble of the tones seemed not to ignite somewhere within his chest like Finbar was known for. Blaise's baritone was smooth and thick, like honey.

When the dark haired male had left the room, Draco could not help but say, "I told you so."

Usually tender brown eyes shot jagged daggers at the youth, but refrained from making a comment. It seemed that all of Draco's closest friends, bar Alex Ladon, had made it onto the band. Closest friends being Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott; the former as another violist, the latter, shockingly, as another singer.

It did not quite matter that there seemed to be so many participants, because they had the better of a whole three hours to fill that very evening, and they were covering many different songs that would require a complex set up of musicians and vocalists. Still, on the other hand, they had to be weary not to allow in too many, for it should still be possible to manage it.

Next up where the Weasley twins, from whom George Weasley entered first.

Now it was Draco who looked as if he'd bitten into a square of melon and Hermione whose elfin face that lit up upon seeing him.

"Heya Hermione," he greeted, already seating himself at the rather shabby drums that were used for the tryouts. "Ferret-face." he added solemnly.

Draco seemed to loose his wits for the moment, mouthing silently 'ferret-face' whilst frowning, entirely _not_ happy to be left out of the loop. It seemed he had acquired a slight-name for which he did not even know the occasion for.

Just like Blaise Zabini had done, George just improvised as he went along. He could conjure sounds, rhythms and beats that neither of the two listeners had ever heard. In the end it was hard to say a negative.

It took up the better part of the day before they'd sorted out the entry-list. In the end they'd gathered around twenty-five people, which was, for a simple evening of live-music entertainment, a-lot. But, then again, they'd needed folk for the lights and sounds, both male and female singers, and a whole lot of musicians. Afterwards they might still have to post 'wanted' flyers for additional help.

Both of them were clearing out the desk and storing away papers and pencils in their rucksacks.

"I think we chose well, don't you?" Hermione ventured, figuring that if they wanted this to _work_ between the two of them, she'd better start taking up on her own advice that she usually lavished upon Ron.

"Don't cheer too early, Granger." Draco answered solemnly, neither cold nor kind. It appeared that he could be civil and even mature if he wanted to. "For all you know it could be a disaster if we let them play together."

"What do you mean?" she blinked at him.

"What I mean is, Granger, that they have to _sound_ together." He spoke solemnly, both his hands stirring the air between them both almost as if he were trying to explain it by movement, "It has to click, " he snapped his fingers, "just like that. If it doesn't, it won't work, not even after one and a half month's hard work. Believe me."

He gazed at her so intensely, the brooding gray clouds in his eyes whisked away to reveal shards of the brightest blue crowing the pupils.

"Yeah," she said with a slight nod, meeting his pressing stare unflinchingly, "I think I do."

"Good." Draco said with a stiff nod.

The blonde hoisted his rucksack around his shoulders while Hermione slung her book bag over her head and around her torso. Feeling decidedly awkward, Hermione kept on glancing from between curling wisps of hair at her male partner on this project. Something about him was changing and _she just couldn't_ put her finger on it. Just couldn't. It frustrated her to no end. Draco had always been such an asshole; when he'd first arrived here the blonde had spouted the foulest things at her. He'd made her cry, back then, those first times. She had not understood why he said the things he did, acted the ways he did. Even now she did not. But what drove her senseless to no end was that during the end of their fifth and now, especially, during the beginning of his sixth, he'd come around; almost pulling a cheerful one-eighty out of nowhere and stowing the offensive attitude he'd been pushing all those months –years even- before. Okay, he was still a bastard, but a small one compared to what he used to be. Actually, it was only Ron, who's every move Draco kept on doggedly tracking with the most wickedly sharp slights ever heard.

There were times even when Hermione just wished that Ron would just abandon all kindness and just punch Malfoy's lights out. Heck, she had done it in their third year. And boy, had that felt _good_. Like Whooyeah-good.

Almost as if sensing her path of thoughts, Draco stepped aside wearily, "Granger?"

"Hm?" She hummed sweetly.

"You _are_ aware that you have been standing there for almost five minutes?" he said with a slight trace of his old smirk tracing his mouth, though even he did seem somewhat worried. Maybe he had recognized the dangerous gleam in her eyes. "I'm going to leave now, but don't worry, you can just stand there for how long as you wish, really. I'll leave the key here." He patted on the bookshelf near the door. Then he arched a curious eyebrow at her before giving a smooth shrug of his left shoulder and slipping into the hallway.

Smiling secretively at the space he had just occupied, Hermione shook her head, curls dancing as she did so.

--

"This is ridiculous!" Ron ground out as he flapped the paper erratically in front of Harry's nose.

The latter, plucking it deftly out of the air, was wearing a puzzled expression on his face. Flattening the crumpled piece of paper, his green eyes narrowing behind round spectacles, he gave it a quick scan over. It was their 'events'-calendar, which the whole school had received today.

"What? The Halloween Ball?" Harry prompted. As for himself, Harry disliked the idea of having to play dress-up. Okay, there was the fact that he got to see Malfoy sing on stage and Hermione play the piano, but having to skip around in some silly outfit was not his notion of _having fun_. Most of the time he felt ridiculous enough just being himself, with all those odd situations he usually got himself worked into, so he did not quite feel the need to put a costume on for it.

"No!" Ron said, batting away Harry's hands and reclaiming the schedule. "This! That's what ridiculous!" he grunted, jabbing his finger insistently at something at the top of the stencil.

"Ridiculous…" Seamus mused from where he was sitting at the other side of the table, still working down his tuna-salad sandwich, "You know, that sounds like a spell. Like _Abracadabra_! Just say it with me: rrrrrriiiiii-diculous. Roll that 'r' baby."

"Arrrrr." Finbar echoed, pirate-accent and all.

"Or like _Sim-sala-bim_." Dean added, in sync with the sizzling opening of his soda can "Or _Expelliarmus_!"

Seamus shoved his dark friend sideways, causing his friends to spit out half of his gulp on the table-top. "You bloody oaf, _Expelliarmus_ doesn't exist."

"It's magic, how can it not exist?" Dean demanded in turn, dabbing irritated at the spilled drink with a napkin "Just listen, _Expelliarrrrrr-mus_. Sounds like magic to me."

"Or _Avada Kedavra."_ Harry gasped as he was trying to snatch back his event-calendar from a frantic Ron.

Seamus halted his progress of transporting his sandwich to his half-open mouth, "That sounds awfully creepy, Harry."

The emerald-green eyed youth blinked at his two friends, running a hand through his untamable mop of dark hair, revealing the lightening-shaped scar on his forehead, "Why?" he asked.

"Well, just listen; _Avada Kedavra._" He recited, using a morbidly dark tone, "Sounds pretty dangerous to me."

"Uh-huh," Dean agreed, "S'probably very painful. Maybe it makes your toenails grow inward."

Seamus rolled his periwinkle-blue eyes, "I said _dangerous_, Thomas, not some icky foot-blight. I mean awful, terrible, agonizing; like your brains leaking from your nostrils."

"Ew." Dean said who was listening with wide intrigued eyes, his chin cupped in his hands like he was listening to an extremely enthralling story.

"Or even kill people!" Seamus bellowed, carried away by his imagination, throwing his arms akimbo in excitement, nearly slamming a fourth year into the face, "Now _that_ would be useful. I would just point my…" he looked for an object on the lunch table, "magical spoon at a foe of my choice –Goyle- perhaps and just say those magical two words- and-"

"That's cruel, man." Harry interjected from where he had grabbed hold of Ron's neck with one arm while trying to reach out for the paper with the other which his victim held out at arms length, "Not even magic should be legal to do that."

Seamus was rolling his eyes, whilst making neat swish and flick movements with his eating utensil, "It was your spell."

"Seamus," Harry said and, letting abruptly go of Ron, slapped both hands on the table and stuck his nose right in the middle of Seamus and Dean, which caused the latter to spring up in surprise and nearly choke on the soda he was peacefully slurping. Grinning wickedly Harry continued, "It is magic. It does not exist."

"Harry, mate," Seamus sighed, using his forefinger to push Harry's nose back a couple of inches. "There is a little magic in all of us."

"Aw, Seamus!" Finbar chuckled, resting his head on the Irish youth's bony shoulder, squeaking in a horribly failing girlish falsetto "That's _so_ cute."

"GUYS!" Ron barked loudly at them, demanding attention again. "Hello, this is _not_ amusing, I am distressed, could you give up your highly useless and even less magical conversation for a moment and just bloody listen to me."

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry said deadly serious fashion, sitting down again and folding his arms. Then he pulled his spectacles of his nose and put one of the ears just between his full lips, "Tell us everything and more, m'boy. Your deepest, darkest secrets and your fears. We are all ears."

"Hell, mate," Seamus said with a smirk, "You'd make a hell of a convincing psychiatrist."

"I'm like his therapist. I need to start charging him." Harry said smugly.

"Ron doesn't seem very convinced." Finbar remarked dryly.

Indeed, the redhead was virtually snarling at them, red hair standing on end and smoke all but steaming from his nostrils and ears. It seemed that he was in some desperate need of attention.

"Okay, okay," Harry relented, slipping his spectacles back his nose and blinking as the world came back into focus, "What is it?"

"Thank you, Potter." Ron breathed snidely at him, "I just wanted to say, if you'd look at our delightful 'event'-calendar, that besides the Halloween Ball, we have a five day school trip! Which is the ridiculous –don't you dare Finnigan-" he snarled just as Seamus opened his mouth to chortle 'riiiii-' "thing I was trying to tell you about!" he finished and in his frenzy he was nearly tearing the short strands of red hair from his scalp.

Dutifully Dean whipped out the calendar and read the explanation note that was added by each event. For example, it told that the Halloween Ball required a costume, would provide snacks and drinks for a small fee and would have live-entertainment from a last-minute steamed ready school band. The very same for which Hermione was now missing from their table. At first Ron had been green of jealousy that his female friend got the day of –and more to come- to work on the preparation of the band. But after hearing that Malfoy was second one in charge he just had gone muttering dark threats under his breath at no one in particular.

Tracing his fingers over the various school-related events and educational trips, Dean finally came upon the five day long excursion Ron had been raving about. As side note it said, as was known by now, that it was a five day long trip for both the fifth and sixth years. The youth centre was situated in a part of Great Brittan where Dean had never even heard of, and would be with cottages for the sixth years and a communal house for them all to meet in, where the fifth years would be accommodated as well.

"This doesn't sound too shabby at all," Dean assessed after a short moment of contemplation, "I mean, a five day trip, with loads of free times in the evenings for us sixth years and cottages for four or six students. That could be loads of fun!"

Ron nearly thrust the paper into the Afro-American's face, "Hello, Thomas! It says TEAM-BONDING for the sixth year. They are planning to dump us somewhere in the middle of nowhere and expect us to play truth or dare with bloody fucking DRACO MALFOY!"

Tapping his lips with his index finger Harry murmured, "It seemed that McGonagall was serious about all that 'making it easier for fellow-peers' and all. I'd think they had hopes to finally clear this rivalry out and have a better inter-whatever co-operation. Cause, deny it or not, this whole shit with Malfoy had gotten the whole school unsettled."

"Thank you, Harry, " Ron pouted, pulling back the paper from Dean's face and sinking down on his chair, "Nice to know you're supporting me."

Finbar who had been blowing bubbles in his apple-juice a moment ago, looking very out of place for such on wild-looking fellow as him, let the straw flip out from between his lips and said, "C'mon Ron, nobody is blaming you. It's just the truth that the whole sixth year is at odds with each other and it's also wearing off on our lower years. That's just the fucking way it is."

"I would sooner commit ritual suicide instead of playing all buddy-buddy with ferret-face." Ron groaned miserably, but seemed satisfied being able to apply Malfoy's new slight-name, which had sprouted from, very obviously, the albino ferret that had been christened with the very same name.

Harry pushed his chair back with an annoying screech, grabbed his apple from the table and bit down on it so he had his hands free to shoulder his rucksack.

"What's the rush?" Dean asked, observing him curiously.

"Call of nature. I'm going to try and find the loo." He explained "where is the one closest by again?"

"Second floor Harry, don't get lost now, okay? We've got less than twenty minutes left before classes." Seamus provided, finally shoving down the last piece of his sandwich behind his jaws.

"Yeah, sure." Harry nodded absently at him, "Later." He threw over his shoulder as he hightailed it out of there as fast as his long legs could carry him.

By the time he had managed to jog up his way to the second floor, his thighs and gluteal muscles were straining in protest. Of course, as he left the lavatories again, his throat was parched and dry with his nearly sprinting up the stairs on his desperate rush to relieve himself. So now he was thirsty again. Oh, the irony. But, he was not as forgetful as Sirius always gave him credit for, and remembered the coffee machine one or two floors higher. That would do just fine. So, again Harry found himself trotting up stairs in search for something to please his physical needs. His memory had served him right as the coffee machine winked at him with the midday sun rebounding of it in an inviting flare. It required a lot of rummaging through his rucksack, jeans-pockets and jacket-pockets to retrieve enough coins which he could feed to the machine and have it produce some of the dark liquid.

Folding his hands around the hot plastic cup, Harry took a deep, satisfied sip and- nearly walked right into Draco Malfoy. Some of the heated liquid sloshed sloppily over the edge and onto his fingers. He cursed and flung the hurt hand in mid-air, waving it in attempt to cool the burning sensation, "Fuck, Malfoy can't you see where you're going?"

"Excuse me." The blonde snorted, taking a theatric side-step to let the literature student pass.

To make it complete, Draco's two companions –the ever bohemian looking Alex Ladon and the half-Italian Blaise Zabini- stood waiting for him near the staircase.

Harry, ignoring the other young man, resumed his pace back to his next destination, where he'd been having advanced English from McGonagall.

"Oh, puh-_lease_!" Alex was begging the stoic Blaise as he neared them, "just a short piece, nothing fancy."

Her friend was looking decidedly uncomfortable, trying to hide the violin which was resting in its case on the ground, by standing in front of it, "It's really not that good…"

"Of course it is!" she countered "Please, for me?" right at that moment, when she had folded her hands together and was looking hopefully at Blaise, Harry was right next to them and Alex chose to use his presence in her favor. Yanking him bodily to join the circle, standing tiptoe so she could keep her arm around his shoulders, she announced, "See, even Harry wants to hear it, don't you Harry?" somewhere during it all she had pilfered the plastic cup out of his hands and had kept it from gulping all over the edge. Now she gave it back to him.

"Uh, hear wha-" Harry started to say.

Alex slapped her hand over his mouth, effectively cutting of his sentence, "See! He wants to hear you play the violin, too. Oh, Blaise, plea-hease?"

Grumbling under his breath, movements choppy and actually somewhat nervous, Blaise retrieved the violin and released it from its case. The following movements spoke of expertise and it was obvious that handling the instrument was a second nature to him, as much practiced as breathing, so to say.

"So, what do you want me to play?" he asked wryly.

Harry gave him a heartening roll of his eyes in Alex's direction and was surprised to see the merest of smiles flicker around the full lips that were the mirror image of those of his cousins'.

"Improvise," Alex said simply, now pulling back her hand from Harry's mouth and slackening her bone-splintering hold on his shoulders.

With an awkward shrug Blaise was about to put the bow to the strings when a fuming Draco Malfoy imposed his presence on the three youths who had been standing there in relative peace. Zabini, however, seemed glad for the interruption and was already trying to inch away now Alex's attention was diverted.

"Ruining the moment," Alex hissed in a dangerously sweet voice to Draco.

"Coffee." He snarled.

"Yes, sweetheart," Alex answered as if speaking to a child as she glanced at Harry's cup, "That's coffee. What about it?"

"He's drinking it!" he spat out again, causing even Zabini to pull a face of complete puzzlement.

"And that's…bad?" the journalist asked tentatively.

Draco took one big step that took him so close to Blaise it appeared for a moment if he was going to kiss him. Instead he sneered, "Do you see me drinking any coffee? No? Exactly! Because _he's_ drinking it!"

Now he was looking at Harry instead, a madman's look on his handsome features, "That's the last coffee, 'cause the machine's empty. And he's _drinking_ it!"

On the faces of both the three youngsters manifested such incredulous look as they stared at the distressed Malfoy heir. Alex and Harry met eyes, both arching their right eyebrow.

"Can somebody say 'addict'?" Harry stated sarcastically, eying Malfoy still carefully.

Blaise had put a comforting arm around his friend's neck, as if trying to soothe some wild creature. "Potter, I think it is time for you to blow this Popsicle stand, before my friend here decides to fight you over that drink. Believe me, he would."

"O-kay," Harry answered, backing away as told and heading for the staircase, all the while thinking 'weirdo's'.

Draco, who was seeing the last of the soothing dark liquid he so badly longed for escape his clutches, appeared to be prepared to pounce on Harry's to prevent the latter's escape. But with Blaise's warm, steady and strong arm around him, the blonde was forced to watch how the last of the coffee disappeared with the handsome culprit who went by the name of Harry Potter.

However, he mused, now that his frustration had settled for an ill clenching feeling of disappointment, it was the combination of seeing _Potter_ standing there with _coffee_ that had startled him so. That stupid boy was not supposed to like coffee, oh no, that went entirely at odds with Draco's perfect perspective of how the world worked. Which was a very logical manner of dealing with things, for example; Weasley was the bad kind, Draco loathed Weasley, and the feeling was mutual. Draco loved coffee, Weasley hated it. Simple; good kind, bad kind. There were no variables; Parkinson disliked coffee; so she was the bad-kind. Easy. Then there was Potter; Potter was Weasley's friend, which meant instant bad-kind penalty. But, Potter liked coffee, which should put him in good-kind category. How was such an anomaly possible?

In the end, Draco could come only to one, simple conclusion; "I hate him."

Blaise, who had stacked away his violin much to Alex's disappointment, turned to look at him. "Jaysus, Draco, you are pushing it with this whole coffee-business. Get some Prozac for crying out loud and get on with your life."

"It is not only about the coffee, Zabini." Draco said in clipped tones "I'll have you know that Potter is one of the most insolent, snooty brats I have ever have had the displeasure of meeting. So there!"

"Because he was drinking coffee?" Blaise asked again, a dry looked settling on his tanned features.

"No! Not because of the goddamn coffee!" Draco screeched at his friend, throwing both arms up in frustration, "Because he just _is_. Can't you see that you daft moron? He's one of those terribly annoying people, who always have a witty comeback and a tendency to turn up just at the moment when you least need them! That's what Potter _is_! That's why Weasley _likes_ him! That's why I _hate_ him! Capeesh!"

Blaise, looking completely unimpressed, licked his lips contemplatively, almost if he were seriously pondering calling the nut-house.

"Oh-how," Alex murmured in low tones, shuffling to stand closer to Blaise and whispered most conspiratorially, "He's got a new crush, I can tell," Alex confided him, while the Italian was grinning in quite a morbid fashion now, nodding slightly in agreement.

"Yeah, he always did have something for the dark, silent and mysterious kind." He retorted in an equally hushed tone.

Draco looked fit to combust right there and then on the spot. "I'm going to kick your asses so hard you'll be shitting out of your mouth for weeks to come." He roared at them, and instead of getting a red flush, like most people, he got a very ghostly-looking white pallor.

"Tell me Draco, dear," Alex went on unabashed, "Is he the one starring your lonely wet dreams lately?"

This time the blonde actually leapt at his best female friend, who was quick to duck and leap behind Blaise, clinging to him like a shield as Draco cracked his knuckles menacingly.

"Oh, Ladon, you go ahead and hide behind Blaise now." Draco breathed in a husky tone, stalking closer to the human shield Alex pulled back in response, "But one day I'm going to get you. And I'm going to make you suffer. Slowly. Painfully. I'll make you beg for mercy."

"My my, Draco, you make it all sound so romantic." Alex quipped from behind Blaise, still having a firm hold on his dark sweater while pulling him backwards along with her. "But honestly now, what _is_ your _sexual_ interest concerning our new class-mate Harry Potter? Hot or not?"

"Not!" Draco spat at her, trying to jab at Alex whenever she'd pop up from behind Blaise and made a face at him. "How can you even say that? It's a disgrace to the name of Malfoy! Like I'd be interested in some stupid little lap-dog of Weasley's! Bet you he's one big homophobe like the whole bunch of them!"

"How can they be homophobes if Darragh is one of their usual friends?" Blaise put in with his painstakingly kind of logic.

"Because Darragh is an exception!" he said in a tone that suggested it should have been obvious.

Blaise narrowed an eye at him and arched the brow of the other, "Define exception?"

"He always is! Dammit, Zabini, shut up, you're missing the point!" he verbally feinted any more confusing commentary that Blaise could put in.

The violinist just shrugged and let himself be swiveled sideways by Alex to counter one of the blonde's offensives.

"The point is," Draco resumed talking to Alex, "That I would never ever in the whole of my life even think about Potter in even a remotely romantically manner. Got it? So, okay, he's got a wonderful body, and all that, but that's it! Beauty reaches only skin deep you know! The bugger's being all 'look-I'm-so-innocent-and-silent' but in truth he's one of those guys who'd just stab you happily in the back when you'd expose it to them! I couldn't even stand to think about him, wouldn't even touch him with a pole; because I hate him! He's one of those disgustingly two-faced morons that I would very much like to run over with a tank. Okay?"

Alex laughed out loud, burying her face between Blaise's shoulder blades as she did so, unknowingly sending a torrent of shivers down the latter's spine. "Fuck Draco, don't judge the poor guy so soon. From all I know he's a nice guy and perhaps if you'd just try for once, you might see him for what he is. And if you finally do, I'm going to _laugh so hard_ at you because you'll come back and tell me you like him!"

"Like a fucking snowball's chance in hell that is!" Draco snorted at her, "No way that'll ever happen."

"Bet it will," Alex interjected tauntingly. "I _bet_ that by the end of the year –even sooner- you will actually be in love with him!"

Draco broke out in such derisive laughter that even Blaise took an involuntary step backward, "HA! Now that's the most ridiculous thing I have even heard! Good one 'Lex. Fine, let's bet on it." He said amicably turning his hand palms outwards in a surrendering gesture, "I'll bet you to run around naked during this year's graduation, so that if we continue our last year at Hogwart's you'll suffer the every day's humiliation of knowing that your fellow peers have seen you thus _and_ kiss Hermione Granger full on the lips. That is, _if _I fall for Potter romantically. Which I _won't_."

"Perfect, blondie. If I win –scratch that- _when_ I win you'll run around naked during graduation _and_ I get to watch in on one of you and your new lovebird's snogging sessions." She suggested slyly, causing Blaise to cough up a dry snigger and shake his head at the comment.

"Never knew you had that kind of fantasies, Alex, but no matter, since it'll never _happen_. Deal." He stuck out his hand.

Alex glanced wearily from her protector at the proffered limb and reluctantly grabbed it with her own. "Deal." She agreed.

At that moment Draco gave one hard pull on the hand he was now firmly grasping so the dreadlocked woman came flying out from behind Blaise, right into his arms. The playful fight that ensued next had the whole hallway echoing with shrieks and yelps and the two of them rolling over the floor in a flurry of bright yellow and black.

Blaise stood watching them sagely, slurping from a carton of fruit juice, a wily look dancing in his hazel eyes.

---

Title credits go Röyksopp – Eple (just because it's such a cheerful tune).

This chapter has not yet been beta-ed!

So there you go, I have done it. I'm actually very pleased with the results, much better than the old one. But, of course, that might not be how you guys think about it!

Suggestion: LET ME KNOW! ('cause I'm anxious to hear what you think about it)

For those who absolutely hate it: I've posted the old version on my own site. (www dot Silentgate dot com)


	8. Still Laughing

**Disclaimer: **I do_ not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Chapter Eight - Still Laughing.**

"_Get lost, you twits, we're having gay-talk here."_ – Darragh Ganad

"Dinosaurs might have been giant chicks." Blaise read to her from the science magazine he was poring over. He was sitting with his back to the sun, and the rays that filtered through the dark brown locks touching it now to an almost russet hue.

It was comfortably warm outside, but not as perspiring and stuffed as it had been those very first weeks into the new school year. The light that emanated from the sun had a particular orange tinge to it this late afternoon, thusly bathing the surrounding landscape in a soothing glow of warmth. Looking skyward Blaise noted wispy sheets of clouds, colored a warm pink by a natural reaction to the low setting sun.

Cirrostratus clouds, Blaise identified them inwardly. Then he frowned at his own geekiness. Perhaps he _was_ over-educated, as Draco liked to point out so frequently. Then again, he was quite sure that Finbar would have been able to do this, too.

"Giant chickens?" Alex echoed at that, both her white eyebrows drawn up in amusement.

"Yeah," he confirmed, eyes resting upon her outstretched frame next to his, "A series of discoveries in fossil beds at Liaoning in northeast China have revealed that some theropod dinosaurs were preserved complete with feathery plumage."

Rolling over lazily to her back, Alex was mirthfully chuckling to her self, "I'm thinking Big Bird from Sesame Street, now."

"With a huge apatite, then, I reckon." He said.

It seemed that Alex, too, had a huge apatite; though he had his suspicions why this carving for sweets and such had claimed his friend's primary interest. From the way she was now cradling her belly with a pained expression capturing her features to her overall grouchiness. Having grown up with two sisters made him perceptive of such subtleties that others might have failed to notice. Momentarily, being out here with him and having enough snacks at her disposal seemed to have lightened her mood a bit.

Nearby two equines cropped at the grasses contently, soft noses leading them to the sweetest tufts. Alex's Norwegian Fjord, Falkor, was wearing a halter only as her natural ability for riding let her dispense with saddle and bridle. Instead she moved as if the gelding were an extension of her own self. Basouri, the young and playful appaloosa stallion, was Blaise's choice of ride. He, too, was now wearing but a halter, having been relieved of bridle and bit after their arrival here on the gently sloping hill.

Again, he looked at his companion, who was still laying flat on her back, legs crossed in a relaxed sort of fashion at her ankles. One arm was curled under her head, supporting it, the other resting on her belly. Dreadlocks framed her head in an erratic and wide halo, having been loosened from the tied up manner Alex fancied. All around them rough, wild grass and violet pompoms of clover grew; their herbaceous fragrance discernable in the breeze. Her chest rose and fell with slow intakes of air, her breasts tightening the cream-colored, sleeveless blouse upon expanding. Bronzed skin contrasted it distinctly; a dusting of small freckles distinguishable above the low-cut collar-line, too, disappearing between her well-curved bosoms. Her dusky face altered between being at peace and twitching into a frown each time her stomach got a particularly sharp contraction of pain. Eyes were closed, white eyelashes fanned out on her cheekbones, soft and full mouth unresponsive, almost as if inviting him to…

Suddenly Blaise was not all that interested in his reading lecture anymore. His throat seemed to have constricted and swallowing appeared near impossible now. Hammering anxiously against his ribcage was his heart, spreading flooding warmth across his body.

One of the horses, Basouri, raised his head and snorted in Blaise's general direction, Falkor's beige ears twitching in response, as if the both of them were sharing a private joke at his expense.

Almost angrily he jerked his head away so his gaze swept over the landscape. He couldn't afford himself to feel attracted to Alex. She was his best female friend; such emotions were bound to wreck the wonderful, secure bond they had. He'd rather have that, than risking to loose it if he ventured for something more. Besides, it probably was just purely physical drift that played tricks on his mind, as it had been quite a while since the last time he'd had sex. Secondly, he'd always been fairly convinced that it would be Finbar who would win her heart. Surely he was a far better match for his energetic and charismatic friend, than he, who could not even match to his cousin's easy and open manner. And even if you'd disregard those arguments altogether; there was still the whole 'Draco-issue', and that alone was enough to rein the flame that was starting to kindle within his chest.

Why did his emotions suddenly have to go ahead and complicate the whole matter?

From where she was resting on her back, Alex was observing her friend's dark scowl from between her lashes. What was eating him, she wondered, studying his handsome face clouded in a brooding fashion. As of recently Alex had detected a certain change in his whole demeanor; it seemed that very slowly he was starting to let go of his uptight and withdrawn manner. Blaise had been raised with love; certainly his mother had lavished it upon her children in generous amounts. His father had always doggedly tried to raise him in a fashion that would suit him for future life purposes, mainly being the 'heir' of the Zabini lineage. That had been the main reason for him to draw up emotional shields and interact with others in a very impersonal way. Though his father, Vito, was not at all that heartless, and had released the hand that had been guiding Blaise's very behavior. Vito loved Blaise dearly, and was –unlike Draco's father- not prepared to give up his son's happiness for whatever might be better for the family name. From the instant this vital change had occurred, the relationship between father and son had prospered, too, as if some huge weight had been lifted of both their shoulders.

For Draco it still was an every day battle of his will against that of his father's. And, as it had been palpable with Blaise near the end, it was wearing on him. Alex could only hope that sometime soon Lucius would see the light and back off. It was only more frustrating for Alex that this time she would only cause more harm by intervening. Likely Lucius would not let her off so easily either. Good thing that the bastard was unaware of her very presence here in Hogsmeade.

She gazed at her friend closely. His gradually relaxing manner was apparent in his clothing; and the way he was slowly letting his hair grown as it pleased. The unruly hair seemed to run in the family, for both his cousins had the same problem.

Pushing herself up to a position that allowed her to sit cross-legged, Alex ruffled the journalism student's hair enthusiastically. "I really like it like this." She told him with a grin.

Blaise touched the loosely curling and wavy locks experimentally, feeling the springy hairdo give way under the pressure of his hand. Then he raked his fingers through so it stayed clear of his face, lying more or less backwards, save for some stubborn loose twirls of hair that sprang back.

"It seems I've got Jinx's hair, after all. I've been used to brush it flat for so long that I didn't knew it was this bad." He said wryly, pulling one of the said wavy strands downwards in front of his nose and squinted at it cross-eyed before releasing it.

"It really suits you, Blaise." She told him again, "I'm glad you're letting it more loose like this."

Clear hazel eyes glanced at her, before dropping to a blade of grass that he was twirling between his fingers, "Thanks." He said quietly.

Alex blinked in astonishment. Was that a shy Blaise just now? Impossible. Maybe something really was bothering him. If so, she should mention this to Jinx when they got back, perhaps his sister could coax him into speaking to her. But really now, she knew he was only warming up to everybody from begin August, but how much did she really _know_ about him? Not much, it seemed.

Like just what he liked to wear; he'd always clothed himself in black dress pants and a button-up blouse with tie. Now, he was wearing a dark gray, hooded sweater, one with a very wide neck that exposed the whole of his collarbone and more of his chest. His wallet was tucked into the back pocket of stone washed blue jeans which were stained with grass and faded at the stress points. For riding he was wearing badly mud-caked ankle-boots. With his hair as it was, the wind tugging it in all possible directions, he seemed a whole other person.

Draco was right, she though inwardly. This new Blaise was damn attractive.

"-going now." Blaise said.

Blinking, Alex attempted to recall what he had been saying. She just hoped she hadn't been staring too blatantly; that sure would seem awkward.

"I'm sorry y' were saying?" she asked, finally chasing the last tendrils of the dreamy gaze that lingered in her eyes away.

Blaise was rising to his feet, stretching languidly before dusting the back of his jeans clear of grass and grime, "That we'd better get going now, I think Draco will be arriving within a few minutes."

"Fuck," Alex muttered, leaping easily to her feet, "Completely lost track of time. Well then, let's be off."

She paused one extra minute to select a long dreadlock just behind every ear, putting both between her lips and gathering the impressive loose mass of cord-like hair into a bundle. Pressing the whole against the back of her head, she released the two others from between her lips and tied the whole thing together so the ends of the dreadlocks were now springing up in the air.

Blaise had already whistled for the horses that now came ambling towards him in a trot. Rubbing Basouri over the neck as the equine came up to him, the half-Italian began putting on the bridle with distinct care. The discarded halter he had slung over his shoulder.

That being done, Blaise stood looking wryly in Alex's direction.

"What?" she asked.

"Care to give me a lift? I can't fly you know." he retorted with snort.

Alex smirked and went to stand besides him, patting Basouri on the flank kindly. "Oh c'mon, a fit young guy like should be able to if I can do it."

"Like fuck you can." He countered, but was looking quite doubtful nonetheless, "Wee little you up him without saddle or help? Hardly."

Putting her hand on her hips and glaring half-heartily she said, "Alright long-shanks, watch and learn from the master."

Ushering him away, Alex positioned herself strategically besides the horse, hand tangled in the mane, the other flat on its back. The top of her head barely came above its withers. Blaise stood back frowning. Then, with one swift movement, she'd pulled herself up, lying on her stomach for the barest second, and leg swinging over in one smooth arc.

Grinning down at him from her now superior height, Alex teased, "Well now, Blaise, beaten by a girl."

"Yeah, yeah, point taken, brat." he said, rolling his eyes heavenwards while a little smile danced around his lips.

"Right now, grab my arm, I'll help you like this." She offered her tanned limb to her friend, who grabbed it firmly in response. With Alex's considerable strength to aid him, Blaise scrambled up behind her, inwardly apologizing for his blundering to Basouri.

"Whew," he let out in a sigh, as he finally sat behind her "damn horse keeps getting bigger, I tell you."

"Or you're shrinking." Alex deadpanned, patting Basouri soothingly on his neck in excuse.

Blaise prodded her in the ribs, position obviously and advantage to do so. "So, are you gonna get off, are we going to double?" he queried, suddenly more than a bit nervous. Her position before him on the horse had their lower halves pressed firmly together, the back of her legs against the front of his own and her behind… This was a way more compromising situation than with Draco –though the blonde did offer stupid comments to make him uncomfortable. But Draco was just that, his best mate and a guy at that. Alex on the other hand…

"I don't mind doubling up, I've done this a lot with Draco, so it'll be alright." She told him, voice perfectly innocent.

Isn't this just swell, Blaise groaned inwardly. This whole scene was getting worse by the seconds. Where should he put his hands? With Draco he'd just held him at the waist, which was normal after all. For now he'd settle for resting them on his own thighs. It wouldn't be so bad if she was seated behind him, he'd even prefer that.

While he was mentally waging a war between his reason and libido, Alex had whistled for Falkor to follow. The Fjord trotted calmly after them to pick up, while Basouri followed his rider's kind instructions to move down the hill, back towards the stables.

For a while Blaise was able to calm himself down and just enjoy the lush nature that they passed during the trek. Basouri was steady-footed and Blaise's own balance was more than enough to keep him seated without having to hold his friend.

The sky had darkened to a mixture of violet and blue, with a smudge or red near the horizon. Here and there a lone star winked into view. The horses picked their trail with sure feet, hoofs sinking into the soft earth and leaving imprints on sandy patches. A chorus of crickets dominated the late-evening sounds, mingling with the rustle of the equines' strong legs through the wavy grass and their own breathing.

"We're going to be late." Alex commented.

Despite her soft-spoken words, Blaise's stomach gave a jolt of surprise.

Oblivious, Alex just continued, "It'll take another half an hour if we keep this pace. Let's take it into a gallop, okay?"

Blaise opened his mouth to protest, but already the scenery gave a lurch as the horse obliged but all too happily to Alex's query for a faster pace.

"Hang on." she said airily.

The large body of Basouri and its movements changed drastically as he kicked into a gallop. Blaise grabbed, as suggested, indeed for something to hold on. Despite his discomfort he recognized breasts when he was holding them.

"Fuck, fuck," he cursed loudly, arms going down to loop around her waist, his face burning red in embarrassment, "I'm so, so, so, so sorry!"

After the first shock at being grabbed so, Alex had burst out in laughter, easily going along the horse even if Blaise's weight was now logded onto her back. "Grab my breasts, would you? Just be glad I can't grab anything of yours." She joked, eyes intent on the ground ahead.

Blaise just wished he could bury himself in the ground and never, ever have to come out again. This whole trip was taking its toll on his sanity. "You sped off like that; I hardly had the chance to grab anything else." He grumbled in her ear.

"Excuses, excuses," Alex chuckled, "I'll be watching you, you perverted little booby-grabber."

Why me? Blaise demanded some higher entity. Never before in his life had he felt such profound mortification. Of all the completely stupid things he could do, he had to go ahead and do the worst. And now Alex was calling him a booby-grabber. Splendid. This was just great.

Down a gently sloping hill they went, Basouri easily covering terrain with his long legs, stocky Falkor racing in front of them in obvious joy at being so free. The long-grown mane of the Fjord was whirling behind him in a messy cloud, the tail flapping behind its owner like a banner. All insect-life fled the assaulted growth in a flurry of activity, those who could taking wing.

Unable to do anything else, Blaise just held on, dusky skinned arms looping completely around the slender waist they encircled. With her dreadlocks whipping in his face, he'd been already forced to rest his cheek against the side of her head. The hair scented like coconuts, probably because she'd lent Jinx's shampoo. Her body was slight against his, his chest spanning her shoulders and her weight not quite enough to keep him steady. Everything within him was aflame with an emotion he was unaware he could feel so strongly. His heart was practically leaping out into his hand with each beat as it seemed that every tiny detail of the gorgeous woman in front of him was pressed into his torso.

He so desperately tried to focus his senses on something, anything at all, but it seemed that Alex was surrounding him like cloud that dominated everything. Hear, smell, and feel, all of it was centered on Alex.

Was he finally going insane? Was it Darragh's bad influence and quips concerning physical pleasure finally rubbing off on him? Was that why he couldn't even sit behind his best female friend on a damn horse? Was his lack of sexual release catching up with him, that even in a situation such as this he was unable to control it?

He never had been like most guys; filled with screaming, out-of-control hormones that muddled up any chance of coherent thought when being so closely confronted by a beautiful female. He'd always been perfectly in charge of those urges even in those moments of supposed release.

The maelstrom that was his once perfectly ordered thoughts had prevented him from detecting the fact that Alex had long since slowed Basouri to a leisurely pace, giving him a chance to rest and cool down gradually. Already they were covering the last stretch of grassy plane that ran behind the stables and paddocks. It seemed that everything from the moment he'd been forced to hold her had faded into one, big blur that consisted of a mixture of feelings that were a rather dangerous combination.

Finally, with shaking legs, he slid of the horse, feet landing with a dull thud on the hard ground. Opening the Victorian fence to allow the two horses and Alex entrance, Blaise could not bring himself to meet her questioning gaze.

Draco came padding up to him from where he'd been sitting on the swinging porch bench. Sending up a wink at Alex as they crossed each other's path, and exchanging a few words was all that stopped him for a few moments before coming to stand in front of Blaise. The latter was still weakly leaning against the iron fence work.

"I'm going insane." Was the first thing he exasperatedly said to the blonde, "I'm just going freakin' insane."

"I'm happy for you." Draco answered amusedly, not asking why despite wondering about his friend's state of distress.

Gripping his forehead as if it might still the flurry of images that were anything but innocent, Blaise remained mute, not having the will to think up another comment. He almost felt as if he'd betrayed Alex.

Fetching features outlined in blue shadows of the early night, Draco regarded his friend levelly. "Hey, you sure you're alright?" He murmured eventually, throwing a slender arm around the other's shoulders.

Sepia eyes glanced at Draco from under loosely spiraling hair, "Yeah, I'm just…" he failed to finish, because he did not feel alright at all. He allowed himself to lean into Draco for a moment, who was offering his strength and his not-quite embrace readily.

"You know what; Alex can handle those horses herself. Let's go get some chocolate." He suggested, leading the other's unresponsive body towards the large house. Asking what was wrong was out of the question; Draco already knew Blaise would not tell. Perhaps someday he might do so, but for now Blaise was erecting some barrier that guarded his eyes.

Draco understood all too well.

--

Harry was lying flat on his stomach; chin nestled on his forearms where they crossed in front of him. The scene with the familiar whistling-tune from Kill Bill flickered in front of him, though his mind barely registered any of it. He had lapsed into deep introspect, thinking about the hollow feeling that had persistently wedged itself firmly in his chest over the course of the past half a month. Now that everything had settled down -Sirius' business up and running, the flat in order, knowing his way 'round both Hogwarts and Hogsmeade and a new circle of friends- Harry was finally beginning to miss him.

Almost shamefully so, it had taken longer than he'd expected. It was almost a whole two months ago when he'd last seen him. E-mails had been exchanged, the occasional phone conversation, but that was it. It seemed that it had taken this long to finally realize that there was more of a six hour span between where he was and where Harry. He finally realized that he'd be gone from his life almost permanently. The only person that had been there besides Sirius as a constant was gone, back in London. And Harry missed him terribly.

It was thus that he was feeling during the sleep-over at Finbar's. Though he was surrounded by six of his new friends, two of them very close ones, Harry felt lonely. His heart wasn't in what they were doing, and he had been fairly silent and brooding the whole evening, contributing only when he had to. He didn't feel like talking about it either. What was he supposed to say? Whine about some guy back in London he missed? It was hardly something they could do anything about.

He heard Ron whistling the tune along easily and without having to look over his shoulder Harry knew that Hermione would be curled up in his lap. He'd become fond of the two of them, very fond, but at the moment he was something like a third wheel, after all they were a couple and he was on his own. It was absurd when reflecting on his own desire to have someone to lean into, an arm around his shoulders or visa versa, to feel the heartbeat and breath of another close to you. Before he'd never even so much as paused to think about it. That was until he'd experienced it himself; that closeness, belonging, comfort, …

Harry groaned mentally at his own schoolgirlish train of thought. He really needed to get a hold of himself, this wouldn't do at all.

He tried to focus on the film and would have loved to re-position himself, but he couldn't due to Ginny who had smothered his lower-back with a pillow and had rested her head upon it. And as she appeared to be utterly still and motionless, Harry figured she'd fallen asleep. It was three in the morning after all.

Plucking his round spectacles of his nose, Harry rubbed his sore eyes with the back of his hand. The world was a little blurry without the aid of the glasses, and he blinked around the room. To his right Darragh raised his head of the pillow, grinning at him lazily, as the rapidly switching images on the telly casting luminous shadows on his face.

Harry grinned back just as he heard Seamus, seated on the bed with Ron and Hermione, say 'There we go, blood!'. The two teens grimaced at one other wryly; it seemed that Seamus was just about the only one awake enough to appreciate that scene.

"She asleep?" Harry whispered, voice gone gritty as he jerked his head backwards to Ginny.

Rolling over to his side and propping himself up on an elbow, Darragh peered at the figure that was curled against Harry's back. "Think so." He murmured back, "Want me to wake her?"

He shrugged "Kinda have to go to the loo."

"Kay." The other responded, climbing to his feet clumsily and stepping over Harry so he could crouch directly next to the redhead, "Hey, Gins, wakie wakie. Your human pillow has to be a prick and go pee."

Ginny mumbled sleepily, probably not having heard a word of what Darragh had said and caring even less, too.

"Well, then, here we go-"

Harry could feel Darragh's arms snaking against his ribs, moving to lift Ginny of the ground. A moment later the weight lessened for a moment and then disappeared entirely, allowing Harry to gratefully push himself up to kneel on the blanket they'd spread out.

Ginny cuddled gently in his arms, Darragh glanced about to determine where'd he'd leave his delicate burden. "Here Seamus, if you'd hold this for a moment…" he said, and deposited Ginny –carefully mind- in the Irish youth's lap.

Shuffling to the door of the room, Harry noticed Finbar raise his shaggy head of hair, a dark blur in the dark. "Toilet." mouthed Harry to him, and the other nodded, seated in his beanbag with headphones cradling his ears.

Doorknob in hand, Harry waited for Darragh to join him. On the bed, Hermione had nodded of to sleep, head tucked under Ron's chin, a colorful quilt wrapped around the both of them. Ron was caressing Hermione's hair, blue eyes intent on the peaceful features of her face, now and then placing a tiny kiss on her brow.

Diverting his eyes, Harry stared hard at his hand clenched around the doorknob, knuckles jutting out white now. Around his wrist, which glowed pale in the dark, was a black shoelace. It was wrapped around his limb three times loosely, before knotted tightly. On one of the ends dangled a wooden bead dyed blue. If his arm hung idly by his side, the pearl could be held in the hand, occupying his restless fingers. It were two bittersweet reminders of his childhood friend.

The pearl came from a vacation in Italy, Harry having been invited as company for his friend by the latter's parents. He must have been eleven or twelve back then. Once it had been part of a keychain his friend had given to him there, but it had long since snapped and all he'd been able to salvage was this one pearl. The shoelace, too, had been given to him, two years later. His rucksack had snapped and _he_ had tugged the shoelace from the ratty trainers he always wore so Harry could patch it long enough to get home. The borrowed cord had never quite found its way back to its owner. Instead, Harry had bought him a new one.

A warm hand on his shoulder blade snapped Harry back to reality, though the childhood memories still lingered in his eyes.

Darragh's bright golden eyes gazed worriedly into his own, "Harry?"

Turning the doorknob and shaking his head, Harry answered vaguely, "Spaced out," and stepped through the door and on the stairs that led from the attic to the first floor.

Padding silently through the hallway, weary of waking Mrs. Ganad, both boys made their way to the bathroom. Outside the moon was a sickle of pale golden-white, silhouetting the forest that sprawled behind the house in ominous shadows.

"Something bothering you, mate?" his companion asked, coming up close at his left side so he needn't raise his voice too loud. "Lovesick?" he added with a little grin.

Harry gave him a half-hearted frown, and answered evasively "No, just… homesick for London."

Close enough now that their shoulders bumped with each step, Darragh let a little smile glide over his full lips, "You're an awful liar, Harry."

Luckily, he didn't have to come up with a comeback, because they'd arrived at the bathroom. Harry slipped quickly inside, closing the door gently behind him, shutting Darragh's probing questions and kind smiles out. Of course, upon stepping into the hallway again after relieving himself, Darragh's look hadn't changed at all.

Silently, Harry followed the youth to the sitting room, wondering how it was that Darragh had seemed to have picked up on his gloomy vibes. He perched himself on the edge of the handsome leather sofa, wrapping his arms around himself as a shiver crawled over his body. It was a chilly night.

"Cold? Here; take my sweater." Darragh offered, pulling said garment over his head and tossing it to the literature student without giving him a chance to answer, "I'll make us some cocoa." And then he disappeared into the kitchen.

Harry watched him go with a bemused expression. The bright-red sweater was still warm from the other's body heath in his hands. He slipped it quickly over his head to siphon what little it contained for himself. It fitted almost perfectly. Leaving the hood up to warm his neck, Harry pulled his legs up the couch, tucking himself in the corner and rubbed his hands together.

Returning with the promised steaming mugs in his hands, treading deliberately to keep the hot liquid from slopping over the edges, Darragh handed him his and sat down next to him. Cradling the mug in his numbed fingers, Harry inhaled the scent deeply. It instantly reminded him of Remus Lupin. The man had a certain obsession with chocolate; according to him it was the solution to just about anything. Feeling down? Have some chocolate. Bumped your knee? Have some chocolate. Emotionally drained? Have some chocolate. Had an awful nightmare about some creature set on sucking out your soul? Have some chocolate. That was Remus for you.

"So, tell me, what's eating you?" Darragh murmured, leaning forward so he could peer into the depths of the hood to read the other's face. "If you want, that is, I know I'm not your closest buddy, like Ron, but I will hear you out if it helps." His hands were folded beneath his chin and his elbows were propped up on his knees.

Frowning down into his mug, as if it might somehow magically provide answers for him, Harry pondered the query. He remained silent, mulling everything through while Darragh waited patiently, taking a nip from his cocoa. "It's stupid really…" he grumbled eventually, refusing to meet the other's steady look, "I just… really miss someone, back in London… I'm not sure whether I'll ever see him again." He said softly.

"Your boyfriend?" Darragh asked, tilting his head inquiringly so his over-grown mess of glossy chestnut brown hair flopped to one side.

Harry's frown only deepened as he peered into the dark, eyes glassy, "No. Yes. I-… we..."

As he struggled to explain the somewhat ridiculous situation, Darragh did not speak up, allowing him time to arrange his thoughts. Despite being an awful chatterbox, it seemed that he was good a listener when he wanted to be.

"We'd been best friends from when we were two or three and we'd grown real close over the years. Begin this year I'd began to feel somewhat attracted to him and, well, from one thing came another… realized that we were just so tight with one other and that it was not the sort of love we were supposed to be feeling." He explained in hushed tones and looked up to meet the other's eyes at the end of the sentence.

"Did it ruin your friendship?" Darragh asked, voice lowered, despite them being completely alone.

Smiling, Harry shook his head, "Nah, it seemed that our bond was strong enough to survive even something like that. I was afraid that I'd hurt his feelings, though he said that he'd been experiencing the same thing. Then I had to come here soon after, but I was never really sure if…"

"If he hadn't been feeling something more…" Darragh finished, nodding.

"Yeah." Harry breathed, shoulders relaxing as if some burden had been lifted from them. "I really miss him, though."

Golden eyes locked with is and words weren't needed, understanding what had been said and the feeling behind the words. After some minutes of companionable silence, Darragh leaned back, kicking his feet up the small table and crossing them at the ankles.

"What about now?" Darragh said, stirring his cocoa contemplatively with his index finger, "Is there someone now?"

Harry answered just a tad to hastily; "No."

The quiet and serious demeanor of the teen next to him slipped away to reveal a huge, smug grin, "Oh, Harry, you're an _awful_ liar. There _is_ someone you fancy!"

"No, I swear, there's no-" Harry interjected, trying unavailingly to cover himself.

"It's someone from your year!" the other continued gleefully.

"No, really, there's-"

"Someone from your class!" Darragh quipped, leaning closer still to peer at the other's face.

"Honestly, Darragh-"

"Someone you've got PE with!" he tried again, ignoring the other's useless and completely transparent protests.

"Please, knock it off, like it'll ever happen anyway," Harry said crabbily, realizing a split-second too late in his disadvantage that he'd just given himself away.

Darragh winced compassionately and pulled away from him, sagging in disappointment against the cushions, "It's someone straight." He concluded.

"Yeah, someone-with-a-girlfriend-straight." Harry growled in spite of himself, crossing his arms after he'd set his mug on the table.

"Ouch," Darragh hissed, "That sucks, man."

"Yeah," the emerald eyed youth snorted, "No shit."

Suddenly he felt really miserable about the whole situation, his stomach felt as if it'd been filled with some huge, cold stones. What was wrong with him? It was just _Malfoy_. Stupid, annoying, asshole-ish Malfoy. Okay, so the guy was gorgeous. But that was about it. There was no other positive treat to the guy.

"Hey, I'm sorry." Darragh murmured apologetically. And before Harry had time to let his brain register the movement, the other had pulled his rigid body in a warm hug.

Harry froze. Darragh was hugging him. Nobody ever hugged him. Guys didn't hug him. Guys didn't hug each other to begin with. Okay, Sirius in one of his 'moods' might and _he_ used to do it, but that was different. Darragh was as good as a complete stranger to him!

But it felt so… nice.

The arms around him were loose, leaving him all means of pulling back if wanted to. Darragh was surprisingly warm, even without his sweater, and Harry felt it transferring to him, too. And he smelled nice. Something that reminded him of the outdoors mixed with a typical masculine musk.

"You can breathe, you know," Darragh said cheekily, shifting his position so he could support the other's weight better, "I'm not trying to pull a move on you or something." He murmured into Harry's hair, rubbing his back soothingly.

As if suddenly his lungs flicked back on active again, Harry let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Automatically his body lost some of its tenseness. It was as if the world was out of kilter and Darragh had just given him his grip on reality back. "I've never been hugged by another guy like this." Harry croaked.

"Shame," Darragh pouted and then tightened his grip into a mighty bear-hug that had Harry's eyes bugging out comically, "Hugs are good for you!" he said in a sing-song voice.

"Hey! You two! Get a room!" a voice rumbled from the doorway.

Craning their heads around, Darragh still refusing to release his over-enthusiastic hold on the other, they saw Ron and Finbar entering the room. Ron's blue eyes were positively twinkling, while Finbar did his best to look threatening, but did not quite manage to hide the broad grin that spread over his handsome face.

Darragh let go abruptly, snatched a pillow and threw it with surprising strength and accuracy at his brother, who'd made the remark. "Get lost, you twits, we're having gay-talk here." He said, waving them away pompously.

His brother launched the pillow back, aimed at his brother, but hit Harry instead full-on on the side of his head. Knocked of balance, he toppled right into Darragh's awaiting arms, who hugged him promptly to his chest like he was some over-sized stuffed animal.

"Can't even wait 'till we're gone eh?" Ron scoffed, blocking the sight dramatically behind his arm.

Drawn to the living room by all the commotion, the five dogs that had been sleeping in a tangle in front of the smoldering hearth, decided to join the humans, contributing by slobbering and pouncing on the two teens on the sofa. Diesel, an absolutely huge Bordeaux Dog that was Finbar's personal pet, leapt on Harry's legs and promptly laved its wet tongue all over his face. It took both the Ganad brothers' combined efforts to get him off again.

"Down, Diesel!" Darragh reprimanded him sternly at which the dog obliged, but cocked his head in a surprisingly adorable fashion for a canine of his size.

Mildly amused, but if not somewhat disgusted, Harry dragged a hand over his sticky face. "Agh." He exclaimed when his hand came away wet with drool.

Ron was chuckling at the sight, but was not without mercy and guided his temporarily blinded friend to the kitchen. Leading Harry's groping hands to a washcloth and the sink, Ron let a comfortably warm stream off water from the tap. "I do think he likes you, though." he commented, looking down at where Diesel had trailed after them and now sat. He was wagging his tail happily, making dull thudding sounds as if flicked left and right from his behind on the tiled floor.

Dabbing his face dry with a towel, Harry turned his blurred gaze to his friends. "The others asleep, then?" he questioned.

Ron handed him his spectacles, "The girls are; we moved them to the mattress on the ground so they weren't bothered by the noise so much. Seamus is playing on the Gamecube."

"What game?" Darragh wanted to know.

"Super Smash Brothers Melee." The redhead answered.

"And he's losing." Finbar added. "We were coming down to grab some more lemonade, but then we caught you two getting all cozy…" he trailed off meaningfully.

Sticking his nose haughtily in the air, Darragh countered, "But he's so soft and fluffy, like a kitten! You _have_ to try it! C'mon pet him!"

Out of the blue thee hands ruffled him systematically over his head, mussing up his shock of dark hair even more so. Protesting, he batted at their hands, but he was simply surrounded and they had him cornered.

"Ooh soft." Ron said cheerfully.

"You know what," Harry pretended to be offended, having abandoned his efforts and was now just glaring with his arms crossed moodily over his chest, "I really, really hate you guys."

"And so sweet." Finbar said sarcastically, patting him on the head.

"And huggable!" Darragh cheered, latching on to Harry's back again.

Having just survived another bout of the utter silliness his friends were capable of, Harry received his own drink, and tagged after them back up to the attic. Halfway up Harry suddenly realized he was feeling a whole lot better.

--

It was edging near morning, as through the roof-window the sky could be seen blending to a lighter shade of blue. Harry and Darragh now occupied the bed; both of them sprawled over it lazily. Around them the rhythmic breathing of their friends was the only sound in the room besides their hushed conversation. Somehow Seamus had managed to curl up on the beanbag, his sandy hair a messy fluff all that was visible from his head. Ron had fallen asleep next to Hermione, squeezed between her and the wall, with a possessive arm around her slender waist. Next to her was Ginny, who was about to roll off the mattress if she moved. That left Finbar, who had fallen asleep in a squashy old armchair and who Darragh had covered with a blanket. His head was tilted so that the pattern of the tribal in his neck was visible to Harry, and the long mane of ebony hair flopped over the edge, highlighted by the first touches of the morning.

"Okay, okay," Darragh was saying, looking thoroughly exhausted, but having such a good time with his new found friend that he was quite reluctant to follow the others' wise example and go to sleep. "Describe the perfect guy."

Harry snorted, having since long given up on his spectacles and was now peering at Darragh with eyes that were an enchanting shade of green. Their topics had gotten more ridiculous with the increasing lack of sleep, but, for the first time, Harry had found a partner in crime with whom he could discuss such absurd things. Normally, it was nothing like him to act to way he was doing now, but Darragh somehow brought up the worst in him.

"Tough one…" Harry muttered, but was actually lying because the image of a certain fair-haired fellow peer came before his mind's eye.

Alabaster skin, on which shadowy colors contoured each and every muscle, the subtly sculpted abdomen outlined in slender lines of darkness. The even falling and rising of a chest, shadow dancing around the pectoral muscles as they tightened and relaxed with the patterns of breathing. Blonde hair carelessly left to be brushed into his face by the stray breeze, gray eyes fathomless and intense as they swayed in front of his gaze. Angles and planes that made up the fetching face with cheekbones high and eyebrows slanting. The whole memory was completed by the wet gleam that covered the body because it had been drizzling so very softly…

"Care to share those inner visions with me?" Darragh asked suddenly, smirking very smugly to himself.

Harry nearly toppled of the bed at the sudden intrusion when he was drifting of on a delicious slumber with those private thoughts. Turning pink around the cheeks, he failed to give a response.

Answering his own question, Darragh began, "Whose arse are we giving this 'perfect guy'?" he queried.

Knowing his personal answer to that question, Harry let the other ramble on.

"Orion's definitely, he's got the most wonderful behind you've ever seen, I swear! Especially when you're…" he had his hands moving in front of him, deliberately trying to illustrate what seemed to him like a point of vital importance. Suddenly he trailed off, hands frozen in front of him, eying his brother suspiciously where the other appeared to be sleeping. "You get my point." He finished dully.

Harry was choking on his efforts to keep his laughter contained; the look on the other's face had been priceless. The shortage of precious rest had made him giddy and a giggle escaped him.

"You bloody giggled!" Darragh exclaimed in glee, poking the other to extract another similar noise.

Pinning the other's assaulting arm to the bed, Harry shushed him.

Darragh's stupid grin didn't lessen, but he stopped bothering Harry physically. "Chest, then?"

"Finbar's." Harry rapped out instantly.

The aforementioned youth's brother nodded conspiratorially, "Uh huh. Bloody fetching, innit?" he agreed. "I've always been jealous of him, you know. Compared to I'm a skinny chicken. Not fair, though, even Blaise's got more shoulder and chest than I got."

"I think we all are, compared to your brother," Harry said, trying to placate him, "Speaking of Zabini, though, he's certainly good-looking, really. Never really noticed that because he seems to be-"

"Keeping low-profile? Yeah." Darragh muttered, rolling onto his back and crossing his arms behind his head. "Been raised that way, you know, to be watchful and cunning, without been obvious about it. Nice guy, really, if you can get past his guards."

"You say that about everybody," Harry pointed out.

Letting his head roll aside to regard him, Darragh reacted in an enigmatic voice, "But isn't that so with everybody? Never let first impressions fool you, Harry."

Harry was gazing at him, dumb, in a mixture of surprise and admiration. At times Darragh seemed to express a sense of wisdom that was beyond his sixteen old years. Which was praiseworthy, sure, but Harry did not dare to dwell on those unanticipated sage words in case they sparked some hope within him. In relation to the particular subject the advice had been hinted at, there was no hope. Fancying more than physical attraction was bound to end in a bitter fiasco eventually.

"Okay, face," Darragh was ploughing on, happy to leave Harry dwell on that small seed of knowledge he had planted in his stubbornness.

"Yours," Harry answered, ignoring the other's genuinely amazed look, "With Ron's freckles."

"And the eyes?" the other prompted again, looking mollified with the casual compliment.

For a moment, Harry remained silent, gazing at the ceiling. Before his companion could prod him, he said softly, "Draco's."

A deep and profound quiet settled over them then, with Harry peering blearily at the ceiling as he lacked his spectacles to see properly and with Darragh narrowing his eyes and in deep thought. Darragh was not even sure he had heard the other correctly; the tone had not been much louder than a mere breath.

A deep voice that was strained by fatigue, broke the tender stillness "I'm sure that the guy you two just patched up would be sight to behold." Finbar slurred, but traces of a smile tinting it nonetheless, "Thanks for the compliment, though, Harry."

The older man's eyes hadn't even opened, and only his mouth could be seen changing over the various syllables. There was evidence that Scottish blood coursed his veins, for his brogue was slightly accented. Oddly enough this was not as apparent in the rest of his family's speech. "Oh, and Darragh, I'm having a talk with you about your input on 'the perfect behind', if you get my point."

Harry snorted out into laughter at the complete expression of being caught at something very embarrassing that flicked to contort Darragh's face. It had drained from all color in a moment's heartbeat.

Cracking his light blue eyes open, Harry smiled at Finbar's wink, indicating that he was merely teasing his brother and not about to switch into over-protective brother mode any time today. "What, Darragh, no comeback?" he wondered, gravelly voice reverberating in the otherwise silent room.

"Yes, well, even I must be allowed to have my off moments." The younger brother defended himself, "I can't be expected to be a shining tribute to witty comebacks at every given moment."

Finbar snorted, shaking his shaggy hair with a longsuffering air and then fluffed up his plump pillow, nestling his head on top if it. The last thing he could be heard mumbling was, "You're predictable in your unpredictability."

"That's deep." Darragh deadpanned, rolling his golden eyes.

"Go to sleep, you little punk." Finbar groused, rubbing over the dark print of the tribal in his neck with his knuckles.

Curling up to keep his body warm, still wearing Darragh's snug red sweater, Harry felt his eyelids straining under the effort of keeping his eyes open. It was as if Finbar had invoked some magic spell with those words and his body was unable to do anything other than obliging.

Stretching himself over the rest of the bed most ungracefully, Darragh seemed to struggling in a losing battle against the touches of sleep, too, golden eyes drooping shut.

Harry found his own following the example.

--

It was as if he'd barely closed his eyes and laid his head down on Finbar's bed when suddenly the piece of furniture sagged quite violently and something undeniably human landed on him full-weight.

"Good morning!" someone with an Irish accent bellowed quite loudly indeed in his ear.

Harry swatted the air around him blindly, in attempt to repel the unfair assault, but Seamus only caught his wrists. His stomach was pressed down in the mattress a little more than uncomfortable, pinned beneath Seamus' weight as the latter was sitting on his lower back. If he hadn't been so utterly shocked, he might have been grateful that it was Seamus with his lithe built and 5 foot seven inches height instead of Finbar or even Ron.

Next to him, Darragh managed to pry his eyes open. Too late, mind, because Seamus planted his foot against the other's hip and gave a shove. With a strangled curse and pin wheeling arms he disappeared over the edge, landing with a dull 'thud' on the floor.

Ginny was regarding the free entertainment with round eyes, hiding a wide grin behind her hand.

"Gerremoffme, Seamus!" Harry protested, wriggling and bucking in an endeavor to throw the other off.

Making himself quite comfortable, and making a big show of looking around searchingly he asked the room in general, "Someone hear anything?"

Tiring easily, and going slack with defeat, Harry lay glaring in the general direction of Ginny's bubbling laughter. What had he done to deserve this kind of treatment? What could he have done that was possibly so dastardly evil that some higher entity decided to punish him thus?

"Good boy, Harry, submit to me!" Seamus cackled, ruffling his mop of hair from the unresponsive youth under him vigorously. "You're quite right, Ron," he commented loftily, "He's quite soft. Good boy, Harry, good boy."

"I hate you, Seamus, I really do." He declared, dragging a hand tiredly over his face.

Rolling of his victim and bringing his face level to Harry's he retorted cheekily, "I love you, too, man." And gave a wet slobbering kiss on Harry's cheek before bounding energetically of the bed and disappearing through the door.

"Ack!" Came the raven haired boy's genuine exclamation, for the second time already having to try swiping his face clear of drool.

Lying there feeling violated and utterly revengeful, Harry felt around for his glasses, his fingers coming over them on the desk. Sliding them up his nose brought the world once again back into detail. He tried getting up, but his sense of balance was definitely off and he sagged against the wall.

Darragh was still peering around as if to determine whether this was some cruel dream. With a glare that was filled to the brim with ire as he pinned both Ron and Seamus' position in the doorway, he snarled, "Get out, you wankers!" and grabbed the first object his hands came over –a book- and hurled it at the duo.

Darragh was not a morning person.

"Why?" Seamus demanded, "So you and Harry can make mad, passionate-"

"Finish that sentence Finnigan," Darragh growled, "And we'll see how you're going to make mad passionate whatever with no hardware!"

At that the Irish youth seemed disturbed enough to let himself be dragged down to breakfast by Ron.

Darragh let himself keel over so he was lying spread-eagled on the floor. Glancing at one other, Harry's head dangling upside-down over the edge of the bed, they grinned wryly.

"Not a bad suggestion though." Darragh remarked airily, "From Seamus that is."

Promptly landing a pillow on Darragh's face as he stood up on swaying legs, Harry smirked, "You wish."

"Do I now," Darragh sniggered, the sound muffled by the thick feather-filled cloth on his face. "Maybe I could teach you a few tricks," he continued unabashedly, "I have excellent experiences with cucumbers, multi-functional, those, you know-"

Covering his ears theatrically, Harry marched out of the room, dimly registering Darragh's uproarious laughter in the room behind him.

* * *

Chapter title, 'Still Laughing' by Lost Prophets. I happened to be listening to that when I finished the chapter. 

The information about the prehistoric, giant chickens can be found at www _dot_ timesonline _dot_ co _dot_ uk _slash_ article _slash_ 0,2087-1764136,00 _dot_ html

So this one was plentiful of silliness, it's more of a transitionary chapter actually, but important on its own. I'm going to answer some general questions IN MY BIO (go check there guys!), not much, since fanfiction kicks people off who do.

OMG! I need a beta! My previous one has disappeared of the face of the earth, and she's having a rough time with school and stuff. Anyways, I'm in desperate need of a beta, one that will not only want to spell/grammar check, but one that is also willing to give suggestions and listen to my pathetic rambling and ideas. Someone that can handle my over-enthusiasm and the abrupt periods of unproductiveness.

Anyway, let me know whether you like this one! Please!


	9. From Yesterday

**Disclaimer: **I do _not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Chapter 9 - From Yesterday**

"_Well fine, be that way, but you sound like you_'_re having your time of the month Potter. Just don_'_t take it out on me._" – _Draco Malfoy_

Harry was teetering on the edge of sleep, sometimes slipping in some hazy slumber, but mostly conscious enough to hear the by now familiar noises of their little apartment. After a refreshing shower he'd changed into nothing but the flannel trousers he preferred to sleep in and had lain down on his stomach to catch some rest. After a while Nyoka had joined him, curling partially up on the small of his back. Nevertheless her weight sank his stomach deep into the mattress. The numbness he was experiencing was only increased by the constant buzz of his boa's terrarium.

She might be an exception to most rules that applied to her kind, but her terrarium was necessary for her to bask in at times. Sirius and he had coughed up a sum of money that had a specialist make some sort of flap in it used for cats. Having the glass cut and the doorway installed was expensive, but Harry was prepared to give it up if it was for his pet snake's health. By now he had repaid the debt he had made with Sirius, after all it was not his Godfather's boa constrictor, Nyoka was Harry's responsibility.

Ron had been shocked the first time he'd seen her, then again, she was _huge. _About ten foot, so she was pretty intimidating. Harry loved her, other people preferred a dog or a cat, but Harry simple adored his boa. It was almost as if she understood him and he was unnaturally talented in deciphering her complex flow of hisses. Nobody believed him when he said he got a lot of love from her, but having her presence was reassuring.

It was about two in the afternoon when the bell of their apartment jangled noisily. If it was Seamus on some endeavour to wreck his sleep, he was going to castrate the Irish lad.

Sirius could be heard moving around and towards the door. There was a short silence followed by a 'clack' when the door was opened.

"Hey! Long time no see, lad! Come in, come in! How's it going?" he heard Sirius say with a sort of crisp, perky awareness that should be illegal that early in the day when Harry was definitely unable to tie two brainwaves together to create some form of intelligence.

Harry missed most of this mystery person's reply, save for the last; "-holiday in the neighbouring town and since I've got my driver's license dad allowed me to borrow the car. And, yeah well, I just had to drop in, had to see him."

Harry was willing the tendrils of fog to clear from his mind. He knew that voice. It couldn't be...

"Yeah thanks," the person responded to something Sirius had said, "So anyway, is he around?"

But it was. It was him –no doubt. Harry could have recognized that voice out of a million. A tenor that tended to border on the baritone.

"Yeah, he's home alright, doing a pretty impressive impression of a comatose patient right now. Right through that door over there, just go in." Sirius answered wryly.

Footsteps came closer now, and Harry was now scrambling frantically to get from under the boa constrictor, all the while trying to find his glasses and flattening his outrageous fluffy hair.

"Nyoka, just bloody move, will you!" he pleaded and just when the snake recoiled, affronted, the door of his bedroom opened. Due to the sudden lack of counter-balance, Harry toppled right over the edge of his bed in a tangle of legs and flying arms.

"Cedric!" he greeted, plastering a horribly crooked grin to his face as he poked his head from over the edge of his bed, "Hi!" he swayed as he came to his feet, his right leg numb and assault of needles and pin-pricks. "How –eh- are you doing?"

But when his myopic-plagued gaze fastened on the tall and willowy figure that was standing in the entrance, Harry felt a strong surge elation coursing his veins. It really was him, almost as if Harry's missing of him had compelled him to visit him. How could this be a coincidence?

Cedric Diggory was feeling very much the same as his friend. His lips twitched at the sight of his childhood friend so completely dishevelled; a comical but delightful sight at the same time. It had been too long since he'd seen his 'Boy-Who-Lived'.

As best friends for as long as he could remember, Cedric knew exactly how much Harry loathed the title. After all, who would appreciate being named as if he were some sort of wondrous creature, blessed by higher entities from above, just because he had survived the fatal car-crash that had claimed both his parent's lives at such a young age? Nothing that had been involved in that terrible accident had survived, only Harry, with a scar on his forehead that never seemed to heal to show for it.

Despite not having seen him by childhood pal-, best-friend- and ex-lover-standards for a long time indeed , Harry was still Harry, special in his own way and yet all the same very much different. Cedric wondered whether Harry saw the same in him. His heart seemed to expand with affection when letting his keen eyes sweep over the dishevelled form of Harry, now looking adorably embarrassed, wearing way too long, black flannel trousers, his torso marked with the criss-cross red creases from where his body must have been pressed into the duvet, black hair literally fluffed up in all directions and eyes still plastered shut with the lack-of sleep.

Reining his straying thoughts back into place, he sniffed in fake-pique, "Is that all you've got to say to your ex-significant other?"

Harry scratched his neck and yawned, managing barely, "Yeah, well, if I had known I'd have worn my tux and combed my hair."

"Combed your hair? For me?" Cedric grinned, clucking his tongue as if endeared. "Oh, Harry, you flatter me."

"Ha. Ha. Very droll, Cedric; very droll," Harry mumbled with a roll of his eyes, as he unfolded his glasses and slipped them onto his nose. His friend came sharply into view looking very much as the last time he'd seen him, but with new light dancing in his eyes Harry had never seen before. It warmed him to know he was happy.

They stared at each other, smiling dumbly, in an awkward silence. Finally Harry had become embarrassed enough to ask, "Uh… Coffee?"

Cedric nodded, "Yes, please."

--

Half an hour and a wake-up shower later Harry sat with Cedric at Starbucks, yawning into his steaming mug of coffee. It felt strange to sit together, almost as if they were complete strangers to one other. But nothing could have been less true; he knew the workings of this youth's mind better than his own, as he was with his body.

The thought alone had Harry's cheeks flush slightly, and he hid the evidence behind the shaggy fringe of black hair that conveniently flopped in front of his face with a slight tilt of the head.

Harry and Cedric had grown up together, attending the same elementary school and living on the same street. Back then Sirius was renting a sorry-excuse-for-an-apartment, taking care of his departed best friend's only son and working the skin off his hands to keep his new garage going. For his Godfather it had been a hard time, working long days to meet the quota needed to sustain not only himself but also young Harry.

The Diggorys were a wonderful family, despite the great deal of pride Amos took in his son, which he tended to be somewhat rude about to Harry. On reflection perhaps not so unimaginable as Harry had been the centre of the neighbourhood's attention. Not only did everybody tend to dote on the young child, who'd just lost his parents in such a cruel twist of fate, but also because Harry outshone most of his comrades with some unique talents. Cedric, though a very clever and charming little boy himself had never really been bothered with standing in Harry's shadow. He'd adored the kid from the first moment they'd set eyes on one other. It hadn't mattered to Cedric either that he was three years older than Harry. Soon they had grown inseparable, sticking together through all the important bends and cross-roads in their lives.

It was then that the Diggorys took care of Harry after school, fed him and made him do his homework, because Sirius would return home late, thoroughly exhausted and battered, unable to do anything else but stagger to the shower and throw himself on the couch afterwards. When Mrs. Diggory dropped the young kid off back home, she'd always make sure Harry had some leftover dinner with him for Sirius.

When Sirius' garage had finally taken off and the mechanic was able to hire some help, things settled down and Godfather and Godson were able to spend more time together.

Harry's childhood years consisted of two great chunks; everything before he was three was one dark blur of confusion and deep-rooted grief. The shock of losing his parents was an angry scar on his youthful soul, and the two following years after that horrible event were filled with memories of the Dursleys. Forced to sleep in a cup-board under the stairs and help himself with Dudley's hand-me-downs had made the young Harry very grateful of everything he had now. The years that came after he turned three were ones of fond remembrance and nostalgic feelings.

It didn't particularly matter that he had had three homes; Sirius', the Diggorys' and Remus'. Amongst the three of them they had managed to give Harry the childhood he deserved and the affection he needed.

A strained and inane conversation took place at first, but upon recognizing that both of them were genuinely glad to see the other again, and that there were truly no hard feelings over what had come to pass between them, the young men grew relaxed. Soon Harry was bouncing up and down his chair like a big kid when he re-told some of his 'adventures' with Ron to a smirking Cedric.

Later that Sunday afternoon, they found themselves at an arcade, wasting coin after coin on pointless games, but having such a good time that they really couldn't be bothered about it. Noisy whoops and laughter came from their general direction, drawing many a curious glance from passers-by.

Cedric was sure he was going to have a muscle cramp in his face; in the two months his best friend had been away he hadn't laughed nearly as much.

Usually Harry was the pensive - even shy - kind of guy. Not that he could be blamed, really: Having grown up as the 'local freak' and having been told that it was his fault that his parents had died by Lily's side of the family was not really what any child should have to go through.

This knowledge –knowing how cruel people could be- gave Harry the tendency to be wary and sometimes even suspicious towards people. What he did seem to forget was that he unconsciously drew people to him, that one hard glance from those emerald eyes could silence an entire room of adults.

Harry kept babbling continuously, almost as if he was trying to make up for the time he and Cedric had been separated. However, the brown-haired youth was starting to get suspicious that the enthusiasm was not only caused by his presence. Seeing as one particular name always seemed to pop up repeatedly in his little stories.

"-so then Ron and I had run our asses off! Man, I swear, you should have seen the look on his face!" he looked pensive for a moment, his face turning pink as Cedric crashed his car repeatedly. "Though he did glue my thumbs together after that. But I've always wondered how he managed it… because you'd figure I'd notice something like that."

The 'he' –and the returning subject in his ramblings- was a certain Draco Malfoy, and for as far as Cedric had understood, he and the guy named Ron were fierce rivals with each other. However, as Harry continued to beautifully integrate 'him' into whatever he was saying, it seemed more and more obvious that, knowing Harry, there was more to it than just a careless mention.

Harry was just mid-way into his chronicles of their encounters in the hallways that Cedric simply interrupted: "You really fancy him, don't you?"

The polygonal racing vehicle made quite a spectacular lurch as Harry abruptly lost all interest in the game, not that he had been exactly on his way to victory in the first place. "Malfoy! Are you daft?" he protested meekly, trying to look as though he meant it. Meanwhile the tip of his nose had turned a spectacular shade of scarlet.

Cedric arched an eyebrow, but did not even turn his face to look at his friend. "Obviously, you couldn't have mentioned 'Malfoy' more than grammatically correct in every sentence."

Rendered curiously silent for most of a minute, Harry glared at the game-over blinking insistently on the screen. Cedric cast a sideways glance to discover the raven-haired youth chewing on his bottom-lip. Putting a hand on his shoulder Cedric gave him an assuring smile, "Don't pull a face like that, and it's alright."

Having hit the sore spot with an accuracy that only childhood friends could, Harry seemed instantly relieved. He had been worried that Cedric had been irritated about his attention already having been riveted on another person, even though barely two months ago they had shared their last kiss.

After that, the mood for silliness and pointless arcade games had evaporated, and the two of them set about to the local park near Everlind's.

A few kids were out playing with a tattered old ball when Harry and Cedric crossed the play court, dodging wayward balls and kids ever so often until their feet trotted on the gravel-covered path that twisted its way onwards through the trees. All around them the foliage was reddening with the coming of autumn and some early yellow leaves danced to the ground to serve for a next generation's dinner. It seemed that the climate was caught on a roller coaster as the weather changed from a chilly wind one day to a warm breeze the next.

"You seem to be quite taken with this guy…" Cedric encouraged gently, the cool air stirring his brown hair as they walked into the park.

Harry grumbled indignantly, munching on his earlier-purchased cone vehemently. "S'not fair. How do you always seem to know these things?"

"Oh c'mon Harry… Anyone could read you like an open book." Cedric said, having to look down as he tried to catch Harry's gaze.

The latter just stared out over the pond on the banks of which they had come to a halt. Harry didn't seem actually piqued, but more in deep thought, as if the whole thing was still beyond his own grasp. After a while he seemed to have mulled through his inner mayhem of thoughts and asked, "Are you sure you're not… well, disappointed in me?"

Cedric nudged him with his elbow, finally getting the worried youth to look at him, "I'll never regret what happened between us, though it was not meant to be." He allowed a small grin to grace his full lips, "But you were a wonderful kisser, mind you."

Rolling his eyes heavenward, Harry shook his head, but couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips.

"Anyway, it would be hypocritical of me to take offence in your new-found interest, seeing as I've got my own now." Cedric tried to mention as casually as possible, yet both dreading his friend's reaction and dying to tell him.

But the pretence of passing it off as something unimportant didn't work on the young man, "Who?" he asked immediately, his face bright with wonder. Cedric didn't fall in love easily, and if he did it were always people that were remarkable in their own way. Unique and frank people, often a lot like Cedric in a way.

Kicking himself inwardly for blushing he tried to cover it put by lowering himself on his haunches, pretending to be looking closer at a few ducks. "Oliver."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Oliver? The Oliver Wood? My ex-basketball trainer?" he demanded breathlessly.

Cedric didn't even manage to nod and just settled with blushing even harder at the lake.

"Wow." Harry said with a laugh, crouching down next to his friend. "Couldn't have picked a more handsome bugger, could you?"

Though still blushing, Cedric suddenly turned towards him with a playful smirk, "I only settle for the best," he paused to lean in and breathe huskily; "Harry."

"Idiot," Harry swatted at him, toppling over at the suddenness of the gesture.

Now that he was down on the ground after all, he crossed his legs into a comfortable sitting-position. Cedric followed suit, but scooting closer until their knees nudged. For a while, they sat in contemplative stillness.

"Do you regret it?" Cedric wondered, his voice low and somewhat edged with anxiousness.

"What?" Harry said, playing dumb.

"Us," the brunette clarified.

Harry looked up from where he'd been plucking at a dead leave, his green eyes bright and his dark hair whirling around his face with a sudden gust of the wind, "No, not at all. You should know that, Cedric. Why ask?"

"I just…" He faltered, frowning at the turmoil of emotions that whirled around in his stomach, eventually he spoke, but his voice had a distinct sense of unease to it "I really missed you… and I haven't heard anything of you besides those few calls. I thought you might have regrets or something."

For a moment, Harry just gazed dumbstruck at his childhood friend, "Cedric," he said with an amused shake of his head, "You're a prat. C'mere." And with that, Harry manoeuvred himself so until he had his friend in the v of his legs and his arms wrapped around Cedric's slender torso. Smiling into short brown hair, Harry murmured, "How could I have regrets about you, mate?"

Cedric hummed in the back of his throat, letting his eyes slip shut contentedly as Harry nuzzled his neck tenderly. For a while they sat together, gazing out over the lake, unspoken words drifting between them. For Harry it felt as if some great weight had been lifted of his shoulders, knowing that they were, after all, still friends.

"I've got to get going, kid," Cedric said after a while, "Dad will be expecting his car back."

Harry nodded, gripping Cedric's shoulders to push himself to his feet, "If you've got the time, pick me up tomorrow after school, so you can meet Ron and Hermione. You can have dinner at our place afterwards."

"Grand, I'll be there," Cedric promised when Harry offered him his hand to pull him up. "And maybe I can take you someday after school to see mum and dad again, they're anxious to hear about you."

"Sure, I'd like that," he responded genuinely.

With that in mind, they walked together back towards the suburbs of Hogsmeade town.

--

Alex was feeling absolutely awful. She probably looked like it, too. It was as if some chunk of God knows what had lodged itself behind her eyes and was swelling ever so slowly until the pressure on her vision became unbearable. When she'd turn her head abruptly she swore she could feel the thing slide around in her head. Every part of her body was doing its own specific form of protest. Her dreadlocks were an absolute disaster; they were crooked and fuzzy and bend awkwardly away from her head as if attempting to flee from the general feeling of uneasiness that radiated from her. The ugly, seven inch long, jagged scar that ran over her left hip had a tight, constricting feeling today, as if subtly twisting the ripped remains of skin that surrounded it. The small of her back was cramped and her knees were stiff. Her lips were chapped and she couldn't help licking them to lessen the burning, but it only made things worse.

In short, she felt like shit.

To her right Draco strode confidently through the hallway, without his hooded sweater, for he had offered it to her when she just couldn't stop shivering. His camera bounced against his sternum to the rhythm of his paces. He was looking good today, wearing a long sleeved green shirt under a black t-shirt, his fair hair tucked behind his ears except for a few stands that defied even Malfoy willpower and remained dangling in his face. A pair of jeans that pronounced the slender length of his legs rode low on his hips, kept in place by a green belt with a silver buckle. Draco had this thing going for green and silver. Besides his obsession for black.

Flanking Draco's other side was Blaise, who somehow managed to navigate through the tide of students without lowering his newspaper. It had been drizzling that morning, causing his dark brown hair to frizzle into untameable loose, loopy curls. His honeycomb eyes travelled methodically over the sentences and paragraphs, brain absorbing their daily portion of world news. The exotic tan was contrasted sharply against a light beige turtleneck one of his sisters had bought him. While, though in an entirely different manner than Draco, he should have stood out, he managed to blend in. Hiding in plain view. Blaise was good at that.

It was supposed to be lunch, but Alex doubted that she'd be able to keep any form of nutrition in her stomach. She also hoped Draco wouldn't mind her runny nose dripping ever so often on his **-**scarf, no matter how much she blew her nose. That combined with her period made a very disgruntled and fuzzy headed young woman.

She was peacefully daydreaming about her bed and steaming showers when a skittish second, or perhaps even first year, plowed right into Blaise

Fortunately, he was tall and managed to keep on his feet, but the small little girl had gone sprawling on the floor, books, papers and pencils strewn around her.

"Watch where you're going, you little-" Draco began indignantly, more a reflex than a sincere reaction.

Alex nudged him sharply. "Can it, mate, c'mon. The poor thing's scared shitless enough without you adding to it."

Which was an accurate enough description; for the girl had tears brimming in her big blue eyes and was clumsily grappling around on the floor to undo the chaos that had been created with their colliding. After gathering his thoughts Blaise knelt wordlessly on one knee and calmly gathered the books, papers and pencils. And handed them just as silently back to the first year.

Stuttering out an assembly of syllables that might have meant thank you or sorry, the girl ducked past Blaise's towering frame and sped out of the hallway - probably mortified about the whole experience.

Blaise was reaching out to pick up his newspaper when a delicate hand snatched it up in front of his nose. All the while his face remained completely neutral, except for the lift of one dark eyebrow as he slowly came back to his full height.

Padma Patil held out the roll of paper, "I think you dropped this." She said.

Her voice was a sweet, soft lilt that was incredibly pleasant to listen to, which was the reason she was one of the lead singers along with Cho Chang for the Halloween Event. She nodded at Draco with a graceful tilt of her head, but somehow overlooked Alex.

A barely perceptible jerk of his chin was all Draco returned. And he shifted his weight to his left leg, bumping shoulders with Alex.

"Yes, I think I might have lost it while beating the shit out of that first year." Blaise said eventually, when Padma just remained standing there with the newspaper in her hands.

For a moment Padma seemed undecided as to whether Blaise was joking or serious. He sure looked like he meant it; you had to give him that. It seemed that she was willing to think positively and giggled coyly, shielding her big brown eyes under long black lashes.

Blaise blinked and for the first time he cast an uncertain glance sideways at his friends. "Actually, I also wanted to ask something." Padma said, and her voice seemed huskier, "I wanted to practise a few songs, you know with Halloween being so close, and I wanted to ask if you'd guide me on the violin."

Alex's stomach had gone hollow, as if the bottom had just dropped out. Her pulse was beating in her neck.

Blaise was definitely frowning a little now, confused. "I think it'd be more practical if you ask Draco or Weasley -George-," he told her pointedly. "Guitar is easier for you to sing along with, to give a good rhythm and-"

"But I like the violin better, especially when you're playing." The beautiful young woman said softly, avoiding his steady gaze shyly, "I think it's a good match."

There was a frozen silence like that for a couple minutes, Blaise mutely staring at the desirable, dusky female, finally comprehending that she was flirting with him. "I'm afraid I can't help you." He said steadily.

"Oh." Padma uttered, covering her cherry-red lips with the tips of her fingers as she gushed flakily, "But it doesn't have to be right now. We've got last period free for practice, so I though we might try then."

Draco thought it was time he'd put his foot down and end this nonsense, "Look, Patil, we're going to practice as a group, because that's what we're supposed to be and we don't have much time left. But you know what; I'll make sure to pay extra attention to you, to see you don't make any mistakes." He sounded perfectly reasonable, even somewhat nice, but you had to be deaf, stupid and blind not to be able to read between the lines and catch the underlying threat.

It seemed Padma was momentarily stunned, "Oh. Yes, that's okay. Um, thanks." She mumbled eventually, and reluctantly started to depart. But she hesitated and smiled at Blaise once more, lowering her brown eyes with a fetching blush touching her shapely cheekbones. Then she was off, her long legs moving in tantalizing perfection under her mid-thigh skirt.

The half-Italian gazed somewhat befuddled after the slight form of Padma Patil, her long dark braid flipping in time with each sway of her hips. That was certainly unexpected, he thought to himself. Very vaguely, some recollections of Padma drifting close during practice and more than once trying to initiate conversation with him seeped back into his head. Also the very small touches, like she was plucking invisible hairs from his clothing. He should have seen it coming. Shaking his head clear of those trivial thoughts, he turned to Draco, smiling now.

"Over-protective much, Draco?" He asked, lowering his voice to a bass that seemed to slither over your skin.

Draco just quirked an eyebrow at him, "So what if I am?" he countered, lowering his voice accordingly, so it sounded throaty. "I can't say you seemed very enthusiastic, despite her being gorgeous."

The other just gave a one shouldered shrug that could have meant anything, but he already seemed distracted.

"Where did Alex go?" he asked.

"Mm?" Draco hummed, adjusting the lens on his camera before putting it to eye level and snapping a photo.

Blaise wondered what he possibly could have seen that was important enough to take a picture of; after all, they were in the middle of a deserted hallway.

"Alex, where did she go?" he repeated, motioning with his chin to where she had been standing a moment ago.

Said young woman had fled from the moment the 'big' question had hung in the air between her best friend and impromptu female companion. The 'I really like you and would love for us to spend more un-platonic time together'.

Well shit.

Weaving her way through a more crowded hallway, Alex worried her lip. Blaise's love/sex life hadn't really ever bothered her. Okay it did bother her because it meant having to sacrifice some of their quality time together because usually the girlfriends didn't like her being around. Draco said it was because she had an undiplomatic manner of socially communicating. This was why she generally got along better with males than females.

She'd tried of course. One time there'd been this other girl with whom she could get along with just fine. Until they'd gone shopping. There'd been a moment when said friend had been trying on some jeans and had asked for opinion. Alex had truthfully replied that she needed a size or two bigger. Then there had been lots of crying, and garbled bits about Alex saying she was fat. And Alex was not good with crying people -or rather that kind of hiccupping, snotty weeping -, she never really did know what to do then. When she'd been little, Gloves and the rest had usually told her to suck it up and raise her chin.

Not when she had been truthfully hurt -like the time she'd been pushed into the shards of glass and had gotten the scar on her left hip, then they were all warm embraces and gentle touches. But when she'd cry over trivial things -being scared of dark alleyways for one- they'd be quite merciless, not cruel, but just like that.

And Blaise somehow always ended up with clingy-kind of girls. A general laugh among them, for if there was one thing that would drive him up the walls it was that. That, silly names and The L-word after a week or two. Alex and Draco took great pleasure in mimicking those little things, until Blaise threatened to revoke visiting privileges. Which was an ever-working ruse because both Alex and Draco were quite fond of staying over.

Blaise was, ironically so, the most sexually active of the three of them. But, for more than half year now he'd been celibate. Probably because the last girlfriend had wreaked some sort of trauma on Blaise's mind. Apparently, the girl -named Violet- had accused Blaise of not wanting to 'talk'. Something that had confused the hell out of him as when he asked specifications, so he could adapt, Violet refused because otherwise it wouldn't be sincere anymore when he did so. One of the most frequent things she'd tell him was 'but you never talk to me' to which he would say, 'but we're doing so now'. And of course, when he'd genuinely tried to be more talkative, she'd ignore him or be pissed off about the topic of the conversation, or the fact it was always turning it into something of a good-natured debate, or that it was never about things she was interested in. And then, in a mind-blowing logic only pubertal females possess, if he tried to prompt a conversation about something she had been doing, or how her day was she'd accuse him of being suspicious and not trusting her.

Alex had smarmily suggested he ought to sing a song or recite poetry after/or during sex -they had never quite determined when Violet thought he ought to be more vocal. Something which had let to the most hilarious of imitations yet by Darragh; who had taken a great dislike towards his cousin's current girlfriend.

Ever the wealth of knowledge, Draco had just raised the brilliant idea that if the both of them were still stranded without a love-life after twenty-five, Draco was allowed to convert him to homosexuality. Blaise had shrugged and shook hands on it. This of course, had been pledged in private and well out of hearing-range of a certain cousin with chestnut hair.

That recollection had barely drifted back into the depths of her memories when she bumped into a certain cousin of Blaise Zabini with chestnut coloured hair.

"Oof," she huffed, upon knocking bodily into him. And, with everybody being taller than her, she hit her nose painfully against his breastbone.

Darragh had caught her by the shoulders, holding her at arms length, "Jay-sus, 'Lex, what's with the hurry?"

"Mating rituals between friend and fellow class-mate, that's what." She answered, rubbing at her nose gingerly. Now it was leaking a steady stream of something she didn't want to know in response to the brutal hit, and she fished around in the pockets of her too-baggy pants -she'd nicked them from Gloves in hurry, having overslept that morning- for a handkerchief.

"Ooh, mating-rituals. Where?" Finbar interjected, with his ever deep-burring bass for a voice. Harry and Hermione were hovering at his side, watching her in a critical manner.

Jerking a thumb over her shoulder, before she blew her nose was all they got for an answer.

"Who's doing fornication rites with whom?" Darragh pressed.

"Fornication rites," Hermione repeated," Wow, that your big word of the day, D?"

Darragh cuffed her playfully around the back of her head, sending swirling tufts of hair swinging into her face, "Well, thanks, Hermione, good to know you appreciate me. Good to know." He turned his back on her pointedly, centring his body frontally in Alex's vision. Behind his back Finbar high-five-ed Hermione.

"Blaise and-" Alex started to say, but someone talked right over the end of her sentence.

"Nobody." The supposed partaker of 'fornication' rites said loudly.

Giving Alex a pointed glare, Blaise tried silently to communicate that she should keep her mouth shut. He was doing his best to look as stony as a rock, with even less emotions than one, and if it hadn't been for the carton of fruit-juice that said 'squishy-strawberry', he might have pulled it off.

"Oh hi, Blaise," She smiled up at him overly-sweetly.

"Yeah hi, Blaise," Darragh gushed over-enthusiastically, and hip-bumped Alex out of his way so he could drill his eyes into his cousin's, "So who were you putting the moves on?"

Again, Blaise shot an exasperated glance at Alex, but he was met with a bland, angelic look, the bright green eyes wide and guileless, as if to say 'Don't look at me, I didn't do it'.

"The moves being put onto him, you mean." Draco clarified, only adding gleefully to his best mate's already embarrassing situation. He was standing next to Alex, arms crossed comfortably over his chest and smirking.

Finbar whistled. Blaise made a slicing motion with his finger across his neck at Draco, who batted pale eyelashes in response.

Upon concluding that two thirds of the group was not buying his aloof and neutral attitude, Blaise let his expressionless mask fall. Instead he sulked and moodily slurped at his carton of strawberry-lemonade.

"Padma Patil." Finbar spoke up suddenly, sagely nodding his head. His dark mane of hair was tied backwards with a bright-green elastic band he had pilfered from Lavender.

"Unfortunately." Blaise muttered.

"Oh-no, Wolfman," Hermione spoke up, poking her friend in the chest, "You're doing that creepy mind-reading thing again."

"Was not," he spluttered, grabbing the offending digit. Hermione's finger was so small that it disappeared completely in his fist, "I mean, c'mon, she was like all over him from the beginning of this month. Making goo-goo eyes at him and all that jazz. I think she must have been getting desperate to make such a bold move on him."

Draco let out a snort, "You can say that again, I mean, she was this close-" he lifted up a hand and squinted one eye shut as he peered through the tiny space between his thumb and forefinger, "to jumping his bones right there and then. And mister Tough Guy here needed me to chase her off."

"How very brave of you." Darragh told him, giving him a rewarding pat on the shoulder.

Still having not contributed at all to the conversation was Harry, who was unable to grasp the complete personality switch Malfoy was doing. He was actually being civil. More than that, he was joking with friends of Harry's. With a jolt Harry remembered how Darragh had told him that the two cliques were actually more tightly interwoven than you'd think. That, in reality they would be one big group of 'friends' if it had not been for the complete abhorrence Ron and Malfoy held for one another.

"You did not-" Alex was asking her friend, perplexed, waving a hand vaguely in mid-air to emphasize was she was getting at.

"Did I look interested?" Blaise returned, voice lowered, and the two of them were standing somewhat closer, trying to have some privacy.

Alex blinked up at him, "But she's all…perfect, y'know. She's even got some degree of intellectual competence. Plus she's a stunner, that's for sure, and nice. It's almost stupid that you didn't…well." Had Blaise not been focused on the fact that he could count the freckles on her face; he might have noticed how hard it was for her to choke out the words.

Jerking back into reality, having lost count at twenty-four, Blaise said more decisively, "I wasn't interested." And ended that statement with a half-shrug as he took the straw between his lips, sipping his lemonade.

He still had his eyes on her face when something -just for a moment- flashed in her eyes. Blaise let the straw flip from between his lips in confusion, sending a strawberry-juice spray splattering Darragh in the face.

Then the moment was ruined when Alex saw the shifty eyes Finbar was giving them. Her mouth was talking before she had come up with a decent flippant comeback. "Good!" she growled and slung first her left arm around Draco's waist and then her right around Blaise's, "I'd hate to share my two boys."

"Greedy." Darragh scolded her, giving her an affectionate pat against the cheek. "Monopolizing all the good stuff." He gave Draco an almost flirtatious wink.

"But I can share you know." Alex declared loftily, giving Draco a shove in Darragh's direction.

"I'm too young to die," Draco whimpered theatrically, but it was obvious that he was used to this kind of banter between Alex and Darragh.

"Knock it off, you guys," Finbar clucked at them, shaking his head almost sternly, "I think you're disturbing Harry here." Then his full lips curled into a grin as his crystal blue eyes darted up and down Harry's prone frame - like a deer caught in the headlights, with the attention of the whole group alighted on him.

"Aw," Hermione said, reaching up to smooth Harry's shock of black hair down, "Don't worry, they're just pretending."

"Yeah, cupcake, just a show." Darragh chimed in; "Unless of course, you'd really want me to give Draco a real goo-"

Finbar promptly slapped his hand over his brother's mouth, whispering out of the corner of his mouth, "Hush, kid, vent your perverted fantasies somewhere else. God knows what Harry must be thinking of us…" He gave Harry a beaming smile, slowly removing his hand from Darragh's mouth, who was just in progress of licking his palm wetly. As Finbar absently wiped the slobbering trail on his brother's shoulder, Darragh mimicked the silly smile. A perfect duo, those two and looking at the daft smiles alone you could tell they were brothers. Both of them had dimples in their cheeks, extra-pronounced by the caricature grin.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry finally found his voice, and punched Finbar playfully, "Cut down the sarcasm, already, I get your point."

"It isn't too late yet, Potter," Blaise told him solemnly, "There's still time to turn back."

"What about you?" He asked, narrowing his eyes. "He doesn't seem to have perverted your mind too badly yet. Or are you just good at hiding it?"

Blaise actually grinned deviously at him, "They're my cousins. What do you expect? I got the good traits from the both of them."

Alex fake-coughed into her fist, and it sounded very suspiciously like 'yeahright'. When her Italian friend snapped his hazel eyes to her, she pointed with a perfectly exemplary face at Draco.

Shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his jacket, Harry rolled his head gently in a slow circle, feeling the pull of the taut muscles at the back of his neck. This situation was just beyond surreal, here he was, witnessing with his own two eyes how things might have been. How it would have been had it not been for Malfoy's rotten remarks to Ron and the latter's sheer stupidity of simply falling for them each and every time again. If they might just once try and ignore each other, this would be daily goings-on.

He tried to imagine how it would be, hanging out with these people after school. Being comfortable enough with Malfoy to simply walk over and sit down next to him at the beginning of class. The opportunity had presented itself more than once, but he didn't dare. It hadn't even occurred to Harry to do so in the first place. He was Draco Malfoy, and he was Ron's best friend. He didn't even know the guy, let alone really speak to him.

There were but a handful of things he knew about Malfoy. That he was in Photography, and quite good at it. That he liked coffee. He could swim. He went horseback riding. That he had a girlfriend.

That was ignoring the way Harry loved how he smelled, blushed at the sound of his slightly hoarse voice, and couldn't seem to keep his eyes to himself if he moved, even if it was only the soft rising and falling of his chest when he breathed. Pure, unabated physical attraction.

Unnerving really, because he couldn't even get it out of his system. He had tried persistently over the course of the last few weeks to focus on anything unlikeable about Malfoy. But typically, there was always another side to the story, and Harry had, in contrast to the other moments, found out that Malfoy was, actually, likeable. He just never seemed inclined to display the other side around Harry. That was what had only just managed to come into sharp focus, the way he interacted with others he called friends.

But now, with this bizarre conversation unfolding between the most unlikely of people, he'd been there. Listening, watching. Even though Malfoy had not said a word to him, nor to Hermione, Harry had come to the discovery that Draco was genuinely witty and clever, even kind about it with his own friends.

Even Darragh was much closer to the blond than he had ever imagined and though for some reason Draco was overly cautious about Finbar, they shared a grudging respect that Harry had not known the existence of. All the time he had been left out of this loop, while he was closer to it than he had ever imagined.

Up until this moment, just willingly being in one another's proximity had seemed like a big laugh. A whole other dimension. He'd been wrong; blinded, thinking he'd know how the situation worked, but having grasped it completely twisted.

What Harry did not know for sure was how it really was and could be.

Maybe he'd been wrong all along.

He jumped slightly when Hermione grasped his arm. The young woman looked steadily into his eyes, almost as if she could read the inner-monologue that was reluctant to leave his mind.

Hermione looked away over her shoulder at the rest "See you later guys." And began to lead Harry away.

As the two of them progressed, Harry's stomach curled itself up in a tight knot. Hermione still had her hand on his elbow, as if suspecting he might bolt for it at any moment. It made Harry feel as if he was going to be chastised for something -and he prayed to the heavens it was not what he suspected it to be.

Eventually Hermione had let them outside, and pushed him down to sit at a solitary picnic bench under a willow that sloped over sharply. Straddling the bench, she sat down next to him. Brown eyes met his squarely for a moment and then cut away sharply, into the general nothingness that Harry was staring at.

"You like him, don't you."

It wasn't a question, just a statement. The knot in his stomach squirmed, and he clenched his jaw. How could she have known? They were friends, but for barely two months. Surely he could not be that obvious.

Sliding over closer to him, Hermione put a hand on his shoulder, "Harry?"

Still staring straight ahead without blinking, his eyes began to fog. "Who?" He asked, voice carefully bland.

The hand on his shoulder was jerked away, and Hermione's eyes flashed, "Don't. You know who, Harry."

He felt himself go strangely off balance, suddenly numb, as if someone had pulled the plug and all his emotions had swirled down the drain. When he spoke, his voice was cold, distant. "I think he's physically attractive, yes." With a small movement, he was looking at his friend. A small smile flickered over her lips, and she nodded. In reluctant agreement.

In response, Harry felt a tug at the corner of his mouth. Then his eyes glazed over and he bit his lip, worrying the inside.

"Are you alright?" Hermione murmured, and the hand returned to his shoulder.

Harry shrugged, the movement conveying exactly how he felt. "I'm just not sure how to think about it. All the time I've been thinking that he -or even they- were just assholes, you know."

Nodding gently now, as if understanding what it was he needed to say.

"I do feel guilty about it," Harry began, and his voice was fervent, desperate to explain himself, "And I was so bloody angry with myself, because he was such a bastard to Ron. And he still is a bastard. God. He really really is, but I'd never thought that…." he trailed of helplessly. Harry was not even sure anymore what he wanted to say, or explain, or whatever.

The pad of her thumb was moving in a soothing motion, "I'm not angry, Harry. I know. I've been working with him for the Halloween event and the Gods know how frustrated I've become with myself. And with him. Them. Draco and Ron. Draco can be so clever, funny even, when he wants to be. But then he spots Ron and he just can't seem to keep his mouth shut as if he needs to make Ron's life miserable. I've had to watch every word I said to him so carefully, about the last two weeks, because if Ron knew, he'd feel so betrayed."

"Yeah." Harry said, so relieved that he could tell a friend about it, without being judged.

"Gods, sometimes I just really want to punch the daylights out of Malfoy, you know." She proclaimed vehemently, balling one tiny fist, "And he knows I'd do it again. But then he-"

Harry stopped her, grabbing for the hand that was still on his shoulder and leaning closer, "Wait- did you just say you slapped Malfoy?"

Turning her head at him, Hermione smirked smugly at him. And shook her head, "Not slapped, really." And she balled her fist at him playfully.

Harry was flabbergasted. Hermione Granger had just smirked at him. Hermione Granger had socked Draco Malfoy. And was very smug about it.

"You're scary sometimes, you know that?" he told her, regarding her almost wearily. "Brilliant. But scary."

"I think I'll take that as a compliment," said Hermione, now trying to hide a blush.

"Please do tell me someone got that on tape?" the dark haired youth said in pleading tones.

"Nope, very sorry, Harry. It was a spur of the moment kinda thing. If he'd just shut up when I told him to, I wouldn't have punched him. But then well." Hermione shrugged, grinning softly.

Holding his head with two hands, Harry exclaimed, "I can't believe I missed that!"

It sounded -and was- so genuinely disappointed that Hermione broke out into hearty laughter. When Harry let his arms fall back slack again, the tufts of hair he had grabbed with his fingers a moment ago remained to stick up. It looked as if he were growing horns.

Without any hesitation, she'd been studying him closely past weeks; Hermione reached out and smoothed the dark locks down. Harry was, in fact, a very tactile person; responsive to the merest touch of another, while he would very rarely initiate it. Reserved, almost, scared of the other's reaction.

If she hadn't been specifically looking for it, the fraction of a degree he tilted his head to her hand would have been lost on her. Hermione really liked Harry, in a completely platonic way, but it was stronger than she felt for any other of her friends. Almost frightening so. It seemed as if she'd known him all her life, faced odds together greater than her imagination. Impossible, because she had only known him for exactly fifty-one and a half days. Which was no basis on which to be deeply committed to another person in friendship.

It just seemed so natural.

"My best friend will be stopping by after school." Harry said abruptly.

Tucking one final tuft behind his ear, Hermione removed her hand, watching him intently.

"My lover, actually, this summer." he fidgeted, and looked up almost nervously at her. As if he was just confessing for the first time his sexual preference.

"This summer?"

"We tried, but it wasn't right. We realized that we were both destined to be forever friends with each other." He kept his head down, but his eyes darted up and studied Hermione through his fringe.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Harry mumbled and wondered why it had come over him to suddenly spill this to Hermione.

"What's his name?" she asked, supporting her head on her fist, elbow perched upon the table.

"Cedric," answered Harry softly, fondly.

Hermione tilted her head, looking at Harry through brown lashes. On his face every emotion showed, and if he did manage to keep his face bland, his thoughts blazed like beacons from his eyes with an intensity that was almost startling. He looked like an ordinary young man, but somewhere within him burned a personality that could flatten you with one look or warm you to the core with a smile.

And right now on his face was the latter, a smile that was so joyous at being able to have his friends, all of them, together.

Automatically, Hermione found herself smiling, too.

--

Break was almost over when the two friends found themselves hurrying through the hallway towards Chemistry. Hermione, who had a book pressed to her chest said, "We're running a little late, we'd promised Ron to meet him about fifteen minutes ago."

Harry nodded, and put an extra little speed in his step. Luckily for them, Snape's classroom was located sub-level and thus not far away and required no stair-jogging. The first time Harry had entered the chemistry class he'd been vividly reminded of a dungeon. And just like in medieval times, being down here meant torture too.

Nearing their destination, they could see Ron leaning in a relaxed fashion against the wall, his red hair smoothed backwards, wet from having taken a shower after one of his practical lessons, and not drying with the humid weather.

"Heya guys!" he greeted, "Little late, aren't we?" he added, frowning playfully at Hermione.

"Sorry about that, really," Hermione apologized, touching Ron's shoulder almost shyly.

"Too late now, Hermione, I was already feeling lonely, and deserted, with my own girlfriend forgetting about me and all." he muttered, turning his fists a couple times in front of his eyes like he was wiping away tears.

"Oh, poor thing," Hermione said flatly, crossing her arms at the display, "What ever could I do to make it up to you?"

Pretending to be thinking very hard, Ron rubbed at his chin, eying the young woman, "I can think of something that would make it all better," he said airily, looking perfectly innocent.

"Hmm… Let's see…" Hermione said in a husky tone, standing on tiptoe to give him a lingering kiss.

Harry rolled his eyes at the ceiling, but a corner of his mouth tugged up nevertheless.

"Shite, Granger, how can you be so desperate? The Gods only know where the bloody hell he's been grovelling around lately. You might catch a disease." A much hated and too familiar voice wafted from behind the couple.

"You fucking prick!" Ron snarled viciously at the blonde, his hands balling into fists, "You think you're oh-so smart, don't you Malfoy? Think you can saunter along and order everybody around, huh, spouting pathetic shit at people who don't take your crap in their stride! You're just such a friggin' show off." By the time he had finished his sentence, Ron's whole face had flushed scarlet and his voice had gone scratchy.

"Now you listen to me you little brat," Draco drawled in response, taking a challenging step closer, "You must have been about the biggest mistake I've ever seen walking around on the face of the earth and I must say I'm embarrassed in your mother's place. If I had been her I would've had an abortion before the problem managed to grow."

Harry was by now staring in genuine resentment at the gorgeous blond. With a sharp stab of pain in his stomach he noted the completely pained look on his friend's face. "Lay off, Malfoy," he barked.

"Can it Potter, before you hurt yourself," Malfoy brushed him off, keeping his attention focused on the redhead.

Ron had moved to stand almost flush against the blond, "This is war, you blond fuck, and I'm going to teach you a lesson that'll put you on your place even if it'll kill me."

Snorting derisively at that, Draco threw his head back and let out a bitter laugh, "Yeah I'd like to see that when it happens. Incompetent fool."

And with that last remark the bell rang signalling the start of their chemistry class.

After letting himself drift along with the tide of classmates and verbally abusing Malfoy in an effort to make Ron feel better, Harry found himself slumping at his desk, chin propped up his fist. He was angry, feeling vengeful and more than a bit confused. He really didn't know what to think about Malfoy anymore. Even Hermione's eyes had held a wounded sentiment, as if betrayed by someone she had been willing to give a second chance.

Harry just felt guilty. How could he have ever even thought about Malfoy in an even remotely romantic fashion? After what the blond bastard had said, it was morally incorrect to harbour any sort of non-violent feeling towards him. And to think that only good half an hour ago, Hermione and he had been inclined to think otherwise.

Faithfully sitting next to Ron, the latter somewhat placated by Harry's fierce attitude, the two friends dutifully watched the clock as it inched terribly slowly forwards. Time was relative. Especially in Snape's classes; one moment it would appear as if the session would never end, time stretching in pure torture, another day you might be praying for a few precious minutes more, when completing a test. For which Harry routinely failed.

He drowsily regarded Snape drawl in his usual acerbic manner, paying absolutely no attention, until he heard 'you'll be working in pairs'. It was then his head shot up and he elbowed Ron rather harshly in the ribs, causing his red-haired friend to jolt out of his pleasurable slumber with a slurred 'wassgoingon'.

This, however, did not slip by unnoticed by Snape's ever so perceptive, withering glare, "Aaah yes, Mr. Weasley," he said with a dangerous sort of patience, "Why don't you go sit next to… Miss. Bulstrode."

Harry noticed his friend sink back into his chair with a whimper, sliding down until his nose came barely above the edge of his desk. It didn't seem to be Ron's day.

"As for Mr. Potter," Snape paused dramatically.

Harry closed his eyes, knowing that his fate was doomed to slow and agonizing death due to a traumatic nerve-breakdown. He could nearly taste Snape's self-induced triumph on the air.

"Next to Mr. Malfoy."

There was a nearly inaudible thud as Harry Potter let his head smack against the tabletop, pens and drawers vibrating as he did so. This was unfair. Life was unfair. Lady Fortuna was one sadistic bitch.

So there he was, five minutes later, sitting next to Draco Malfoy, glaring at him as if the old saying about looks having the power to kill was true. Draco glared back fervently wishing that Potter would drop dead. Or at least falter from the maliciousness of his gaze. The wordless truce that had been called during break was now barely worth a bitter laugh.

Needless to say, neither of them was very pleased with this particular seating arrangement. They were supposed to do an experiment with some of the funny looking powders and test-tubes scattered on the working-table in front of them, but as Harry had been so very interested in the way the hands of the clock had been moving at such leisurely rate, he had absolutely no clue what he was supposed to do.

Meanwhile, Draco was grinding his teeth together. Snape had just dropped two places on his favourite teachers list. And why was Potter just standing there like a complete imbecile?

"Hello, Potter, co-operation please?" he hissed at his partner for the duration of almost another forty minutes.

Sending him an absolutely vile look, Potter glared at him, keeping his mouth stubbornly shut.

Draco shrugged, "Fine, be that way. At least do something useful and get me some of this." He instructed, tapping the end of his ballpoint pen against the page of his chemistry book.

For a moment the other just stared blankly at the page, looked up with an uncomfortable expression on his face and then lapsed in moody silence. Draco just arched a haughty eyebrow at him.

"I don't know what it is." Potter ground out softly. And although barely louder than the merest of whispers, the pure venom was soaked into every syllable.

Drawing a steadying breath, he answered, "The white jar with the green labelOn the top shelf."

He pressed his thumb in the pressure point above his eye as the other stomped off. Why did he always have to be surrounded by absolute morons? Like Weasley, who, by the way, had absolutely no right to be having a wonderful, romantically involved relationship with someone, when Draco himself could only dream about that. He'd admit it to no other, but he was so fucking jealous of Weasley. A terrible truth, because he spend most of his time publicly spiting those things he actually craved so badly. He was just so lonely, achingly lonely and he could only find release in his anger. In the back of his mind he did realize that what he had flung at Weasley had been cold, even by his standards. But some of the tension in his chest had lightened for the time-being, though it would only be so long before it throbbed back to life twice as painfully as it had been. It had been almost three and a half year since someone had touched him with non-platonic intensions. At least by someone whose attentions he could return.

Lately, he had begun to question if he would ever –could ever- again meet someone whom he could fall in love with.

Frustrated, not only by his corny train of thought, but also by the curious fact that Potter still hadn't returned, Draco pushed himself up and strode towards the storage room to see where the mannerless cretin had gone off to.

"Potter what a-" he began to snarl, but only got that far.

Standing on tiptoe, arms raised high above his head, was Potter, ineffectively trying thus to reach the top shelf for the white jar with green label. The action separated his shirt from the waistband of his jeans, showing a strip of hard torso, tan paling with the coming of winter. A taut, muscled stomach curved inward towards his abdomen and a dusting of dark hair trailed from his navel down and into elastic band of his boxers.

Something deep inside of Draco hurt. Badly. Terribly. Maybe it broke. Maybe it just clicked into place. Maybe nothing happened, because it had been there all along. But that very instant, with a flash of fright, Draco realized that he was already losing the bet he'd shaken on with Alex.

This knowing slid into him neatly, like the sheer blade of a knife. But more importantly, however clichéd it might seem, Draco knew that he just _had_ to touch him. The urge just hung there, in his chest, pressing against his lungs, like a tangible something. He tried to swallow against it, but instead it just swelled, and was now pressing against the inside of his belly, too. Never had he so badly wanted to touch another, and rationally thinking about it was just silly. It was more like an ancient instinct that stirred; settling down behind his eyes, but also on his heart, sniffing the air experimentally.

He did not, in fact, touch him where he obviously wanted to; not where his spine could be seen curving inward above the band of boxers, where the shirt was still lifted up and exposed the skin. Instead, as if on its own accord, Draco's left hand came up and settled between Harry Potter's shoulder blades. The other rose above their heads and took hold of the jar. Apparently it took only his two or three inches in extra height to reach where Harry couldn't. Potter was warm, and very much alive under the palm of his hand, though he had frozen still. He fancied he could feel the rhythmic beat of the young man's heart through the layers of clothing and human tissue.

Draco's hand dropped away, and his other offered the jar wordlessly. Surprised he found that his reckless actions didn't make him nervous at all; instead there was only a deep calm as he met the intense stare of the other.

Potter's eyes dropped to the jar; before darting back up. As if it were more than just an object they'd use for their chemical experiment. Maybe it was.

No, Draco was sure it was something. What, he didn't really understand himself. He was only very sure that if Potter did not accept the green-labelled jar he'd… Damn. He didn't want to care. Not about Potter's opinion of him or about the reason for his angry silence. He wasn't a friend; they didn't know each other, they-

Further retrospect was forgotten when Potter took the jar, frowned at him, as if unsure what to make of him and subsequently turned away and walked out of the storage room.

A few seconds passed with Draco gazing into nothingness when he suddenly realized he'd been holding his breath. For how long he didn't know, but it had been long enough to make his lungs burn. He drew in an audible gulp of air.

Somewhat disoriented he followed Potter's example and walked back into the class. At their table, his partner was already pouring substances into numerous test tubes.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Potter looked up at him through his fringe, "Chemistry?" he tried.

Draco identified what was in the tubes and what else the other had prepared. "I don't think so." He said with a snort, "Move over, let me do the thinking. You stand right there and try to look reasonably intelligent. Pretending can't be that hard, even for you."

Potter's jaw clenched, but he didn't object, neither did he agree. He did remain where he was standing, and watched as Draco moved about, and handed him, from time to time a vial, or a bottle.

"Pour about 150 mL of 0.1 M dextrose into that bottle over there," Draco commanded as he jotted down something in his loopy scrawl.

Hands hesitatingly flitting over the tabletop, Potter tried to decide what might seem to him to be the likely '0.1 M dextrose' the blonde was talking about. Draco regarded him exasperatedly, shaking his head. "Honestly, Potter, you can't _not_ know what to do. It's elementary. I think I could understand that you're bad at chemistry, but…" he arched an eyebrow, awaiting some sort of explanation.

Potter just ducked his head and a muscle near his eye jumped. Trying to ignore him.

"I'm just _asking_, Potter." Draco said, tilting his head to catch the other's eye.

For a while Potter pretended not to see the photographer's imploring look, his frown even morphing into a scowl of frustration. Eyes still anchored to the tabletop, "Look, I don't know what you want from me, but cut it out okay?"

Draco's face contorted, "What? I'm just asking! What's your problem?"

This time Harry's face came up, and his expression wasn't promising, "This whole buddy-buddy thing! First you go ahead and act like a complete wanker and now you're being all… weird. So just stop it, okay?"

"Weasley deserved that." Draco countered, but even as it was leaving his mouth he knew it had been the wrong thing to say.

Potter rounded on him, bringing his nose mere inches from Draco's. He prodded a finger viciously in the blonde's chest, "That is a load of rubbish, and you know it! Somehow you think that I would forget the fact that you've just been talking out of your arse to Ron and happily engage in some polite chit-chat! You've got some nerve, Malfoy and-" he was on the verge of blurting out something else, but he seemed to swallow it before he could vocalize it and backed off.

Draco just gaped at the dark haired youth for a moment, unbelieving that the 'new kid' had just managed to put him in his place. Just as he had cooked up some nasty, though belated, retort, Harry spoke again.

"Look, I'll cooperate with this whole chemistry… issue, if you just can the shit." Harry said. He sounded tired all of a sudden.

Then it came to Draco. Potter did not hate him. Like Granger, he did not hate Draco, despite the long list of reasons he had given them on occasion to rightfully do so. In fact, Potter felt guilty for not all-out abhorring him. He might not have liked Draco, but he still did not hate him.

"I always use fresh shit, never canned." Came Draco's flippant reply.

For a second or three, Potter just blinked. Then spontaneous laughter bubbled up, a rich sound that seemed to rub against Draco sensuously, but only for a moment, because he tried to swallow it as soon as it escaped his throat. He ended up coughing miserably.

Draco clapped him dutifully on the back when Harry leant on the desk for support when he didn't get enough air. "Don't go dying on me, Potter, I'm not sure how I'll explain that to Granger. I don't think she'll believe me if I said that you laughed yourself to death."

The other had a hand to his chest when he came up again, face still flushed. He looked at Draco with a frown, "You're a real card, Malfoy."

"You forgot downright shaggable, staggeringly handsome, intelligent, funny, charming,…" He went on with his list like that until he ran out of fingers to tag his 'treats' on. "Well, you get my point, I'm perfect."

Harry was leaning against the desk, pursing his lips skeptically. "I think you forgot a notoriously sadistic bastard, a narcist, annoying as hell, a vengeful little bugger, a poser …" He too, raised a finger for every treat he came up with. With all ten digits pointing up, he smirked and wiggled them in Draco's face, "Well, you catch my drift; you're the bane of my existence."

"Pssh, rubbish." The blonde said, "Everybody loves me. Besides, I've got a nice ass."

"You're doing it again."

"What?"

"The whole buddy-buddy-thing."

"Sheez, Potter," Draco threw up his arms looking slightly frustrated, "You're a demanding little runt, aren't you? First it's all; don't pick on Ron," he used a terribly annoying pouty voice as he said it, "–as if Weasley shouldn't be able to take care of himself by now, and now it's; don't be friendly to me. Well fine, be that way, but you sound like you're having your time of the month Potter. Just don't take it out on me."

Harry blinked, opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it and just shook his head with a mildly confused frown.

Of course, Draco couldn't let it go. "What?" he prodded.

"I think you should lay off the coffee, old boy, because you're way hyper today. I don't think I've ever heard you say as much in the past month and a half as you just did now." He wasn't looking at Draco, instead copying some notes the blonde had made on his own worksheet.

The other just stared at him, didn't seem to be able to think of a reply and pointed down instead; "Your lace's loose."

Making a face at the abrupt change of topic, Harry just turned away from him, fed up with the young man and then reached down to tie his lace.

Draco tried not to stare too blatantly, but with Harry bending down to tie his shoe, his loose jeans were pulled snug over his backside and it was hard but to look at anything but that. Potter might be on the skinny side, but he had one nice ass.

When he straightened up again, Draco pretended to be busy, wearing a private smirk that Harry found very disturbing.

"What do we do now?" he asked, looking at him warily from the corner of his eye.

"Add 6 mL of 3 M NaOH solution and 4-5 mL of indigo carmine solution." Draco continued with his familiarly supercilious expression.

"Of course, I'll add 7 ml of 3 something stuff and some other stuff that is indigo Caribbean stuff. Wonderful, no problem, piece of cake." Harry said, rubbing his hand together in an anticipating motion.

Dragging a hand over his face, Draco gestured desperately at the desk, "Just hand me that damn vial over there."

"Yessir."

Draco felt the cool slender glass object being pushed into his hand. Ignoring Potter's horrible grin, Draco narrowed his eyes in concentration. With a pipette he carefully added some drops to the subtstance…

At which the beaker promptly melted, burning a big, black hole through the desk, emitting some foul-smelling fumes.

If it hadn't been for Harry's surprisingly sharp reflexes, the substance would have scorched its way through Draco's skin too, but the literature student had yanked him away from any possible danger at the first sign of instability the substance had shown; resulting in the both of them toppling over rather ungracefully. Fortunately for Draco, his saviour also provided to be a nice buffer between him and the cold -not to mention hard- tiled floor. No such luck for Harry though, seeing as he caught the impact of the collision full-force, now also with the added weight of Draco's body. With a groan, he hit the back of his head sharply against ground.

For a moment the both of them just lay in a tangle of limbs on the ground, Draco staring up at the ceiling in undisguised surprise, trying to gather his wits.

Underneath him, Harry groaned in dismay, bringing a hand up to his head. To his everlasting alarm he was not only lying on top of Harry, his head resting in the dip where the shoulder connected to the torso and his bum in the vee of Harry's legs, but the latter was also very pale and wan looking.

And to his own immense mortification the first thing that came out of his lips was, "Are you okay?"

Harry just scrunched his face up and brought his other hand to cover the back of his head gingerly, where a spectacular bump was starting to grow. All he managed was, "Ouch."

Meanwhile Draco had rolled off him, still watching Harry with a distressed grimace on his face, shaken by what had just happened. He sat awkwardly at the other's side, wondering if the other might have a concussion. He picked up Harry's glasses and checked them. They seemed to be in one piece, as far as he could see.

Hermione and Ron came to a stumbling halt, dropping to their knees with a sharp thud on the tiled floor, heedless of the nice bruises they would show afterwards. As carefully as he could, Ron propped Harry up, who was looking somewhat cross-eyed. Hermione accepted the spectacles Draco offered her.

"I think they are in one piece." He said.

Twisting them around between slender fingers, Hermione nodded, "They seem to be."

"Harry, mate, talk to me buddy." Ron tried.

Harry was sitting independently now, and was clutching his head with both hands; as if he were afraid it would split in two. "I hate chemistry." Came the muffled reply.

"Hear, hear." Ron agreed, chuckling and giving him a pat on the back.

And the next thing they knew Snape was towering over them looking patently chagrined and positively vengeful, "What did you do?" Came the question in a sharp whisper, which also made the delicate moment evaporate and backfire.

Draco immediately pointed at Harry while Harry did visa-versa.

"You gave me the wrong ingredient!" the blonde shouted with a dark scowl, in an attempt to defend himself.

A sly smile crept on Harry's face, "You were the one who told me to hand you that vial."

"You weren't listening! I told you to-" he paused. He had. He glared at Harry, who favoured him with a look to match his own. "If you weren't such an imbe-"

"Both of you: detention!" Snape screamed over their bickering, effectively causing both boys to snap their jaws shut with a 'click'. "Malfoy because I deemed you smart enough not to trust Mr. Potter's challenged intellect, and Mr. Potter just because… you really, _really_ get on my nerves. Even Longbottom didn't mess this one up."

Harry's jaw dropped in a completely woeful fashion, not able to cope with the distinct injustice with which he'd just received detention.

--

"Hey Harry!"

Looking sourly over his shoulder at the prompting of his name, Harry saw Darragh and Dean padding up to him, both wearing knowing smiles. News really travelled fast at Hogwarts.

He was sitting in the gym, in an incredibly foul mood, staring disinterestedly at the group responsible for the live music at Halloween currently busy with lifting amps and hooking up microphones. Hermione stood in the midst of the chaos, on a little stool so she had some sort of overview, giving her companions instructions. Her fists planted on her hips, and her bushy hair tied messily together in a high bun, Hermione looked in her element.

Their last course teacher had been absent, so Harry and Ron had gone along with Hermione –who was excused from class anyway for the rehearsal. The music crew had been setting up for an hour now and more friends had come over to watch. Of course, not anybody could stroll in like that, just friends and acquaintances, otherwise it would be a right circus. There weren't that many of them hanging around anyway, about a dozen, not more. Most were giving helping hands. Of course Harry had chosen to fume some more in private, not that he knew anything about instruments to begin with.

"Is it true you blew up your bench during Chemistry?" Dean asked eagerly.

Harry blinked, "What?"

"Yeah, Draco told me there was barely anything left of it after class! That's bloody awesome, I wish I was there! Honestly," said Darragh, sounding genuinely remorseful.

"It wasn't my fault!" Harry exclaimed in outrage, "He _told_ me to give him a vial and then he even _poured it in himself_!"

"Then why did you get detention?" Dean wondered.

"Because it's Snape, and because he loathes me. And he couldn't give his favourite student a detention and leave me alone, now could he?" Harry said bitterly, "Besides if _I_ hadn't pulled Malfoy away he'd have blown up himself. He should be grateful."

"You rescued Malfoy?" Darragh echoed eagerly, "How valiant of you, how…" he paused, and in the next few second his face transformed into the epitome of wickedness, "How utterly romantic!"

"SHUT UP D!" Harry barked at him, lacking enough eyes to glare both at Dean, who was laughing his ass off, and at Darragh, who was wearing an expression that couldn't mean much good. The look on the latter's face meant that in his mind he was plotting some new kind of apocalyptic scheme that Harry had really _no desire_ to be part of.

"Besides, I don't know where you got your information, and if it was Malfoy, then he's lying, 'cause we certainly didn't blow it up. It just sort of melted…." Harry snapped defensively.

"Same difference. It still died." Dean countered, looking thoroughly pleased. "I really damn myself for not choosing Chemistry."

"Yes, great, I'm happy that you two are so entertained, but at least you didn't get detention." Harry mumbled, sucking in a breath that had his cheeks puffing out.

"Poor baby," Darragh cooed, patting at his hair, but didn't look at all sorry for him.

"Hiya Harry," Finbar greeted, plunking down next to Harry, "I heard you had a productive chemistry lesson."

Harry shot his friend an incredulous expression, "Where did you hear that? How come everybody _knows_? Isn't there a thing like 'don't embarrass the kid who got detention'?"

"Now where is the fun in that?" Dean said rhetorically, with Darragh nodding in assent.

"I heard it from Jinx who heard it from Luna who overheard Padma talking about it to Cho, who was actually in your class and, by the way, has a huge crush on you." Finbar rapped it off, while trying to confiscate a sharp pointy object his brother had started waving around.

"Who's Jinx?" Harry asked. Then he words sank in, "Who? Padma?"

"Jinx's our cousin, you've met her before, dummie," Darragh supplied with a pout when Finbar managed to separate him from the pocket knife. "And Padma's the one with a crush Blaise, remember, it happened like, you know, at break, today precisely. Cho's the one fancying the pants off you."

Harry squirmed. Obviously he should say something really smart now, for the awkward moment to be over, but instead he was saved by his cell phone.

"Hullo? Oh, hi Cedric… yeah. Oh shit, sorry, I'm inside the building, but I'll come and get you in a sec… sure, that' alright. Be right there, bye."

He locked his phone and glanced up to find Darragh doing the same thing. He was positively glowing, "Orion's here!"

"Marvellous," Finbar answered tonelessly.

Darragh, wisely, ignored him, "Who's Cedric?"

"You'll see in a moment. But wait a second; I'm going to get Hermione and Ron."

After collecting his two best friends, the six of them made their way towards the main gates of the building. Hermione was hurrying them along, not wanting to be missed too long from practice, and not trusting most of her partners with the expensive equipment and an over-eager attitude. Colin Creevey, for one, would have electrocuted himself just now, if it hadn't been for Fred Weasley.

On their way out, they were joined by Alex, who came flying down the stairs in a hurry. She looked as if she were meaning to go to the gym, but she spotted Harry and her typical devil-may-care grin slipped onto her face.

"Man, you've really gone and pissed Snape off, haven't you? We could hear him hollering two floors up. Tonks was in hysterics, I think she-" Alex gushed, before making a funny face. After sneezing loudly, and very unladylike, she completed in a nasal tone "-likes you. Excuse me by the way."

"Bless you. Snape was pissed, that's for sure, got both me and your beau in detention," said Harry.

"Oh, but you don't know the whole story," Darragh announced mercilessly, "Harry _saved _Draco. Like in the movies."

"Keep your gob shut!" Harry hissed at him.

Ron, thankfully, was willing to put him out of his misery, changed the subject without being too obvious, "Oh, by the way, mate, my brothers want to know what you added at the end, you know what made the solution corrosive."

Shrugging theatrically, Harry answered, "If I had known, I wouldn't have gone ahead and given it to ferret-boy, now would I? It's not as if I _like_ detention, really."

They were halfway down the gravel road by now, and Orion came sauntering up to them calmly. Darragh would have perked his ears and wagged his tail if he'd been a dog, because he practically bounded up to him in a frenzy and tackled him. Harry wondered if they hadn't clacked teeth together with that force of impact.

"I think someone's desperate. There's still a bed for you if you don't want to face this night." Ron commented to Finbar.

Finbar was just frowning at Orion. The frown turned into a scowl when he saw the blond putting his hands firmly on Darragh's behind. It turned into a glare when he squeezed.

"Shouldn't they be coming up for air anytime soon?" Dean questioned. Their mouths were covering each other's in a way that made him vaguely worried.

"Maybe Orion lost something?" Alex commented idly.

"Are you timing this Harry?" Hermione asked.

He nodded, "One minute fifty three seconds…"

Ron whistled, impressed.

When, _eventually_, they did come up for air, Darragh looked thoroughly dazed and more than a little glassy eyed. Orion had an arm wrapped snugly around his shoulders, and his already short spiky hair looked even more mussed than it had been. It might have seemed like a plain hormonal teenager fit, but Harry saw the way Orion had the pad of his thumb rubbing softly in the nape of Darragh's neck and the way Darragh let out a gust of air, as if some physical pain had been lifted from him.

Finbar seemed out for revenge, because he rounded on Alex and gushed, "Honey-pie!" throwing his arms wide.

For a moment Alex didn't catch on, but then grinned and replied, "Bunny-bums! Oh, I've missed you _so_!"

They did a ridiculous impression of slow-motion running at each other, and upon contact, Finbar dramatically swept her away in his arms and tilted her back to perform a kiss worthy of the most mushy romance award ever. Finbar's long hair shielded their faces, and they could hear Alex' uproarious laughter, but other than that it looked pretty realistic.

When they had finished their act, they turned expectantly to their audience to receive applause. Minus Darragh and Orion, that is.

Finbar added extra to it by pretending to rub his face clear of drool with his sleeve. Alex was fanning herself daintily and turned simpering eyes to the tall man besides her.

Blowing a raspberry seemed the best Darragh could come up with, but he had turned a colour at least four times as deep as the flush he'd had after Orion snogged him senseless.

"Hey," Alex spoke up, poking Finbar in the ribs, "Do I get to call you bunny-bums permanently now?"

"If I can call you my ravishing bedroom vixen." He retorted.

Alex pretended to consider that, rubbing her chin and squinting as if in deep thought. "I could live with that. It's a mouthful though, compared to bunny-bums."

"I'll make an abbreviation, my little RBV." He offered.

"Grand, that's a deal." They shook hands on it and grinned cheekily at each other.

"Talk to the hand because the face ain't listenin'" Darragh said, imitating stereotypical American slang, but he still couldn't hide his reddened cheeks.

"Entertaining as this may be, I'm going to pick up my friend, before he thinks I've forgotten him." Harry blurted over whatever comeback the older brother might have had for that as he checked his watch and realized his friend must have been standing there for over fifteen minutes by now.

"Have no fear, Cedric's here." A voice suddenly said from behind them.

As one, the group turned. Harry face broke into one of his dazzling, thousand-watt smiles, when he came to face Cedric. "Great, you found it!"

"Like it was so hard to miss," Cedric sniggered, with an arched eyebrow, "Just follow the noise. And it wasn't that hard to miss the entrance gate."

"True that, anyway, guys; Cedric," he said putting a hand on his friend's shoulder and turning them both the face the group, "Cedric, the guys."

"I think you need to check up on your facts Harry, I didn't know when we ever became 'guys'." Hermione said with a smile, trying to seize Cedric up without being obvious.

"Yeah, you'd think we'd notice." Alex murmured, looking down as if checking for her bosom.

"You'd think _I_'_d_ notice." Ron said, with a meaningful wink at his girlfriend.

Harry stage-whispered loudly, "Try to ignore the bad behaviour, and _don_'_t_ encourage them. It gets worse. Stick close to me and don't make any sudden movements…"

Cedric nodded conspiratorially, bending over slightly so Harry could reach his ear, "Right, got it."

"What's that little confabulation over there? You don't happen to be talking about us, pray tell?" Darragh spluttered.

"Big word of the day part two: confabulation." Hermione quoted, holding up a finger.

"Swallowed the dictionary again, D?" Dean asked.

"Or did you find it poking around in Orion's ear with your tongue, did you?" Ron said casually, pretending to examine his fingernails.

Darragh was flabbergasted, and just stood gaping open-mouthed at the redhead for a moment before his brain kicked back into action again, "If that's so then you ought to be _a lot_ smarter by now, wouldn't you Ron. We all know Hermione's got a brilliant mind."

"Ooh, comeback." Dean said.

"Nice one." Alex grinned.

"Okay, okay, wonderful, really, but break it up you guys, we really need to get back. God knows what Colin's gone and done now." Hermione said with a shake of her head.

"I'm already preparing to shout: 'Oh my God, they killed Colin!'" Ron said.

"You bastards!" Harry added.

With that, they retraced their steps back into the building and out of the ghastly weather.

--

Draco was trying to concentrate, despite the terrible ruckus that had erupted ever since Granger so suddenly needed to go for a walk. Wonderful. Convenient. He didn't know what to do with a bunch of stampeding teenagers –never mind that the greater half was of his own age. The only thing he had done before was bullying into submission and he had quickly confirmed that it was not a productive manner. So he let Granger play baby-sitter. She was good at it. She had to be, with Weasley.

He strumming a little on the acoustic guitar and muttered a few lyrics under his breath.

Someone slammed on the piano keys and Draco cringed, nearly biting his tongue off. He looked up and the ire that flashed from his eyes must have been promising because the nearby group of musicians was suddenly concentrating immensely on what they were doing. Creevey was scampering around, being over-excited, and tripped over some wires Corner had not yet gotten around to taping to floor. He keeled straight over and would have smashed into the drum set if it hadn't been for Chang who sort of grabbed him by the front of his shirt on the last moment.

"I'll tape _him_ to the floor… I swear…kid's a bloody disaster." he growled under his breath.

The next thing he knew a pair of arms wrapped around his waist from behind and squeezed the air out of him.

"She's driving me insane… God! Fuck! Ruddy, bloody, stinking-"

"Skipped your medication today, Zabini?" Draco asked his friend.

The other just clung to him as if he really were a lifeline to sanity. He wasn't so much hugging him; it looked more as if he were preventing himself from having a nervous breakdown all over the place. The grip around Draco's torso was tight enough to be uncomfortable.

"Blaise." He tried to say in a reasonable sounding voice, "You can let go now."

"No! She'll come back, she's been following me ever since break, harping about- _she_'_s driving me mad_!"

"I just think the poor child's got a serious crush on you. If you'd been a little more socially engaged you might have learned how to deal with it." He tried to pry the fingers away, but Blaise had laced them just under his ribcage.

Blaise's grip lessened and he took a step back, rubbing his temples. "But she's _serious_."

"So?"

"What do I say to that? She looks like she wants to marry me, buy a dog, have two point something kids and live in a house with a white picket fence! And I haven't really _talked_ to her. She doesn't _know_ me. _And_ her friends are, you know, dropping hints and crap like that. It's like second year all over again. And where the bloody hell is Alex when you need her?" Blaise had his hands up in his hair, worsening the already curly mop. Rain really didn't agree with him.

"You need Alex to protect you from the scary girls?" Draco asked with a laugh sounding through his words.

"You might not have noticed, but she happens to _be_ one. Anyway, she's good at keeping them off. Like garlic for a vampire. Only that she smells nicer, of course." He took a seat next to Draco and picked up another guitar; plucking experimentally at the strings.

"As I see it, you've got two options; just tell Padma that it's a no-no _or_ shag her senseless and then run." He said matter-of-factly as his slender fingers flew over the strings and reconstructed the clumsy version of his friend's to perfection.

Blaise put the guitar down and just glared at Draco for a moment.

Pretending to not have seen the look, he mimed a look of sudden enlightenment, "Or you could actually _date_ her."

"But I don't want to." Blaise actually sounded petulant when he said it; it really must be a down-day for him.

Shaking his head in defeat, hoping that Jinx would soon fix up that muddled little brain of his, Draco decided that he'd do better to just shut up. But really now, Padma was _beyond_ persistent. And the Hogwarts grapevine said that Parvati was the bold one.

Girls. Like sharks really.

"Draco! Did you really melt your bench during chemistry?" Alex all but pounced on him.

"It's Potter's fault." He countered immediately.

Like sharks, all of them. He was glad to be a boy and not bear the terrible knowledge that he was going to be responsible for the downfall of mankind.

"Harry said –actually Darragh did, but never mind- that if he hadn't pulled you away you might've fucked yerself up." Alex said with a horrible, lopsided grin.

Draco wondered if she was on to him already. If she _knew_ what he'd been thinking about a _certain _individual during a certain chemistry lesson with _said_ _certain_ individual…then he'd rather jump of the tower and die a quick, painless death.

"Oh so, it's _Harry_, now is it? Fraternizing with the enemy?" He really couldn't come up with anything better in such a short time, but he was afraid that he might start to blush otherwise.

For once, he was very glad to see Granger.

"Finally! Honestly Granger, what took you so _long_? Couldn't have been Weasley… I wouldn't give him credit for his _stamina_, exactly." He drawled, raising to his full height and leering at her.

Hermione flushed scarlet and turned away from them frowning, mortified. Fortunately Ron was among his friends in the gym, having a good time and hadn't caught the scathing remark.

Alex elbowed him viciously in the ribs, almost doubling him over. "Don't be an ass because you've got to take it out on someone else. Be a prat to me or Blaise, and if you can't do that _just shut up_. I know that you've said something to Ron, and just be happy that I don't know enough of it to kick your sorry scrawny ass, blondie. I'm sick of your attitude." She whispered at him, not to publicly embarrass him.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest, the ever protective gesture, and gave her a decidedly horrid look, but kept his pretty mouth shut. He turned away to negotiate with Granger about what was to happen next.

"Well, that put him in his place," said Blaise.

"He's been sniping again lately. Something's bothering him." An introspective look slipped into her eerie eyes. "And it's bothering me, _he_'_s__really _bothering me." She made meaningful wringing motions with her hands.

Blaise gave a half-nod, and didn't really bother to say that if came down to that, she probably wouldn't even get her small hands around his neck. But, hey, why burst her bubble if it cheered her up.

Eventually he just said; "It's Draco, he'll always vent his anger on others to forget his own insecurities. That's just him, and don't think he'll change. And you're bossy, did you know that?"

Alex gave him _a look_. "I'm not bossy! And he doesn't need to change, just leave Ron alone. It's always Ron. I can't even imagine why." She was looking at her best friend's back, who was attempting to get a, rightfully so, annoyed Hermione Granger to answer him. She shook her head again. "I'm not bossy…" She repeated, but it sounded a little more questioning and worried now.

"Of _course_ not! Who? You? Impossible."

"Yeah, alright, I get your point. Anyway, I'm off to join the public. Have fun." And with that she hopped of the makeshift stage and mingled with the rest of the crowd, all settling back to watch.

--

"Test, test."

The hoarse tenor resonated through the gym. It was looked nothing like professional, with everybody on the stage just standing relaxed, and murmuring among each other. They weren't even looking at the gym in general; after all they weren't performing or planning on putting on a show.

Harry was sitting with his back against the wall, Cedric next to him, both of them on the ground. The rest of his friends that weren't on stage were scattered around him, forming more or less a sloppy, asymmetric circle. The two friends were part of the circle, but had their privacy. There was a comfortable silence between them.

"Test, te-"

The microphone made a typical shrill shriek that seemed to go through flesh and bone. Harry flinched.

"Ruddy hell, Creevey, how many times do I have to tell you NOT TO _TOUCH_ THAT!"

Through not the favourite person of the general crowd that occupied the gym, an appreciative chuckle ran through the hall at Draco's outburst. On stage, sitting behind her piano, Hermione cradled her forehead in the palm of her hand.

"Number two, test." Fred spoke into his. "Everybody set?"

George tapped the cymbals lightly, three times. Then the music began. At least, Fred began to coax a gentle melody out of his guitar.

"_Sometimes I feel like I don_'_t have a partner, Sometimes I feel like my only friend_…"

"That him?" Cedric whispered into his ear.

Harry jumped physically; he'd been so absorbed at staring at the stage, like all of them were. But Harry had been particularly watching how the familiar, unreadable mask left Malfoy's face while he started singing, to make place for pure, genuine concentration.

"Yeah," Harry said with a nod, tearing his eyes away to look at Cedric. "How did you know?"

"I don't know, instinct." He answered, giving an apologetic shrug. "He _is_ quite a looker, though."

"True, but it stops there, I'm afraid." Harry spat in the direction of the blond on the stage, anger fuelled again. He had heard what Malfoy had said about Ron to Hermione a minute ago. Cheapening their relationship like that.

"He really gets under your skin, doesn't he?" His childhood friend questioned in a low voice.

Harry clenched his fists almost painfully, "Like you wouldn't believe. There are times when he's _almost pleasant_ and then he turns right around and becomes a real bastard."

Not knowing what to say, or what he was supposed to do, Cedric just sort of nodded. Teasing each other was fun enough, but when there had been something to talk about on a really emotional level- he was only a bloke, wasn't he? If it was something between the _two of them_, Cedric would have known what to say. But he didn't even know this guy, and he wanted to make Harry feel okay, but he had no clue whether his friend wanted him to agree on the bastard part, or the other way around.

"Not like it matters, really. Because, he's straight and even if there was a chance… he's not an even remotely nice person. Just handsome." For saying that alone, Harry felt awful, because it only confirmed that he'd been interested in the guy's looks and he didn't want to sound shallow. As if he'd been lusting after him.

And yet, deep inside a dark place he kept his darkest secrets, a thought surfaced silently; the physical need was different. But Harry didn't want it and tried to repress it. No, in a twisted way it was safe to focus on the pure physical lust. It was only that: lust, nothing more. He crammed the doubt away in the dark place and forgot it. Or at least he tried.

Finbar was looking at him again. Not eavesdropping, because he was sitting at the opposite side of the circle with Seamus, and the sound of Malfoy's hoarse voice washed over anything else that couldn't be murmured into one another's ear. And yet... just his gaze was enough to make Harry uncomfortable.

The eyes were very pale through the dark strands that flopped carelessly into Finbar's face. It felt as if he were looking through Harry, into him and was trying to dig up what Harry had just tried to murder, bury and forget about.

The moment was gone when Ginny all but threw herself at the young man from behind, and they ended up in a messy pile of three humans. Seamus was crushed at the bottom and looked blue, Finbar was half lying over him, and Ginny was sitting triumphantly upon them both.

She waved at Harry.

He waved back.

"Ron's sister, Ginny," he provided Cedric.

"Who she's sitting on?"

"Well, the only who looks the deadest is Seamus, Irish guy and he's really off his trolley, I can tell you." Harry said with snort, "And the one she's actually sitting on is Finbar, but you know that, he's Darragh's older brother."

Cedric was trying to keep up and his gaze bounced from one person to the next, "So Darragh's…"

"Yeah," Harry answered, not having to hear to question to know it, "The blond guy is Orion and…" Harry trailed off; he wouldn't believe what his own mind registered.

God only knows how preoccupied he must have been for the past few weeks, because for the first time Harry realized that Orion had a horrible scar over his left eye. It was one of those scars like his; one that stayed red even after years had passed. But it was by far bigger than Harry's: Orion's had split his eyebrow cruelly into two, disfigured the tender skin of his eyelid, and came to an abrupt stop on his cheekbone. But that was not the worst thing. Once; Orion would have had eyes so dark a blue that they might've looked obsidian. But the left eye had a blotch of clear blue in it, where the wound would've touched the surface. With that came the dawning shock that some of Orion's earlier motions or reactions got explained.

He was blind or partially blind at his left eye.

"What?" Cedric pressed.

"I just… I just realized that he's got a scar on his face." Harry said, his tone fluctuating in a way that made it seem like he didn't even believe his own words.

"I think it's because of how he carries himself," Cedric mused, staring intently at Darragh's lover, "Like there isn't anything to see, or a challenge to look at his face and cringe. He's proud, despite his face."

"Good for him," Harry murmured.

Both of them were looking at the pair of young men, trying not to be too blunt in their staring.

Darragh's mouth was moving, obviously telling him something and grinning about it, Orion just pretended to at least look mildly disapproving, but couldn't quite keep his mouth straight. At once the both of them broke out in uproarious laughter, clutching their stomachs in the effort. Then, also in perfect unison, they went silent. Golden eyes trailed over the other's face, Orion met it, blinked and stared forcefully at his hands. Darragh reached out and touched his lips to the scar, lingered, and then sat back.

Something in Harry's chest squirmed, and his hands went cold. He grinded his teeth forcefully together; willing the jealousy away. It was not aimed at either of the two personally, but at what they had between them. It irritated the lights out of him to have such… feminine desires. To be loved, held and to have someone to be there for you. At the same time he felt bad for thinking like a sexist macho guy. It seemed as if of lately he only ended up disappointing himself. For lusting after his best friend's rival, for being jealous of Darragh and Orion, for needing an emotional level in a relationship, or just the needing someone part, … too many others.

Cedric gave him an almost painful jab in his side. Harry slouched sideways, grabbing at his body and looking startled.

"No brooding. You know I _hate_ it when you do that, taking everything on your shoulders and blaming yourself for things. Your eyes go blank." Cedric was drilling his eyes into Harry's very intently, trying to open the floodgate behind which Harry hid all his desires, his fears, his guilt and his insecurities. With a sinking feeling in his belly, he understood that he could do a lot, that Harry let him close, but not close enough to do just that. To give himself. To surrender.

He wondered what it would take.

Draco was still pouring everything he had into the words of a song on the stage, microphone clenched in white-knuckled hands. His voice filled the emptiness with a raw flood.

Cedric's hand crawled over the cool floor of the gym, and cupped Harry's fist when he encountered it. His fingers were cold to touch. After a long-stretched moment, Harry's fingers uncurled to twine between Cedric's. The pad of the latter's thumb smoothed over an icy digit, and the former gave a squeeze. With that single gesture more had been said than was ever possible with words, and they drew back.

Sometimes, physical gestures can do more than words.

* * *

Well, here you go! Chapter Nine finally done.

I'd like to thank BewilderedMuse, my beta, for all the trouble she went through of checking the chapter for mistakes and offering me advice. Thank you!

Title credits: _From Yesterday_ is by 30 Seconds to Mars (my wonderful beta, BewilderedMuse, came up with it!)

Lyrics come from _Under the Bridge _by Red Hot Chili Peppers.


	10. Praise You

**Disclaimer: **I do _not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**   
Chapter Ten – Praise You **

_"Of course as a friend, as what else?" – Draco Malfoy_

Straightening from his bent-over kneeling position gingerly, Harry groaned as muscles pulled painfully all over his stiff back. Hoping to see any significant progress in the time, he gazed miserably at the clock. Little more than ten minutes had gone by since the last time he'd checked. It didn't really matter anyway, since he didn't get to leave unless all the benches were done. If not, and Snape would very much do his best to ensure it was so, then he'd have to come back to finish it another day, plus added penalty. And if this was a mild detention, he didn't want the added penalty.

"If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be in the situation in the first place."

Harry pressed his eyes shut forcefully in an effort to contain his anger.

"I'm not supposed to _be_ here in the first place. Because it is all your fault and-"

With a strange sound, something between a profanity and a roar, Harry flung his rag at Draco full force. Not that it did him any good, except making a nice, disgusting and most importantly wet sucking noise as it hit Draco on the side of his head.

With a look of shocked outrage –because not only did he have detention because of Potter, now the cretin was flinging dirty rags at him too- Draco made a move to throw something back, but decided the knife might be somewhat too extreme. He didn't quite know how he was going to explain that anyway, with Potter bleeding to death on the ground and only half of the benches cleared of all chewing gum from the underside. Instead, he threw his sponge, which bumped almost harmlessly off Harry's shoulder. 

They glared at each other, and then, almost perfectly in sync, looked at the clock. Five minutes had gone by. Both heaved a deep, woeful sigh and resumed the scraping and scrubbing of the tables.

"You lads want sumthing ta drink?" Came Hagrid's gruff voice from the doorway.

Coming up from behind the tipped-over table, Harry said, "Yeah, sure Hagrid, I'd appreciate it."

Good old Hagrid, a giant man with a somewhat wild if not vaguely threatening look about him, was the only other person besides the two of them that was left in the school-building. Harry very much liked the unusual man, having been helped around by him over the course of the first week. It seemed Hagrid was responsible for everything and nothing, like now watching over the two of them during their detention.

"Whot, 'bout ye, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked when there came no response from his corner of the classroom.

When his already violent scraping at some stubborn patch of gum reached a new level of potential hazard, they knew he was purposefully ignoring the query.

Harry cast is his eyes upward to the ceiling, "Just get him a coke."

After Hagrid had returned with their drinks and went about to do some business of his own somewhere else, time seemed to stretch on and on, until even a minute was an unbearable long period to wait out. Harry didn't even realize how long until suddenly, someone prodded him out of his blissfully numb state of mind.

"Potter, wake up." Draco hissed, giving him a sharp nudge.

Unfolding himself from the curled-up position he'd apparently been lightly dozing in, Harry blinked up at the blonde. To his credit, Draco had not been using the tip of his shoe to nudge him, and instead crouched next to him, with a lightly amused smirk on his face. Maybe he wasn't such a prick after all.

"Did you know you drool in your sleep?" Draco pointed out.

Scratch that, he WAS a prick, an obnoxious one at that, too. Harry scrambled to his feet with a most disgruntled look on his face, turning his back to the other youth.

With distinctly more grace and a certain smugness on his face, Draco stood up as well. Frowning at the room, he seemed to decide they were more or less done. They'd split the number of benches at the beginning, to stave off any arguing later on. And even though Draco had insisted that Potter take two benches more, as it was very much his fault they had detention, the other had still managed to finish before him, nodding off to sleep afterwards.

Harry stood watching their work with him, "Well that's that." He said, wrapping his arms around himself to still the faint shivering. Sleeping on the stone floor had chilled him to the bone, and being tired didn't help it one bit.

With a non-committal humming noise, Draco strode out of the room as if he couldn't stand to be there any longer. Harry trailed out after them, snatching his backpack up from the floor in the progress, very relieved at the prospect of going home. If he'd had his mobile phone with him, he might have called Sirius and pleaded for a lift. As said phone was plugged into the charger back at the apartment, he'd have to walk his cold butt back home.

Harry rolled his eyes to himself as Malfoy sashayed into the bathroom with much flair, as if he had an imaginary audience. He trudged in after him, thrusting his hands under the cold water from the tap to rid them of the sticky strings of gum clinging to his skin. God knows whose drool was all over it.

All the while, the blonde next to him sighed and huffed dramatically, as if the manual labor might leave some sort of permanent mark. Harry clenched his jaw, annoyed at the infuriating behavior. Speaking of infuriating, the young man was dressed in nothing but a button-up shirt and appeared completely unaffected by the chilly air. Not only that, but he was preening at his reflection in the long, low mirror that ran above the edges of the sinks.

Harry peered at his own mirror-image, and as always found it odd to have two green eyes, that he reluctantly had to come to recognize as his own, staring back at him. They were partially obscured by the shaggy hair falling over the rim of his glasses. The harsh light in the lavatory made him seem paler than usual, almost sickly. When another shiver crawled down his spine, he decided it was time to go home.

"It's still your fault, really."

Harry was most reluctant to cease squinting at the mirror, and pretended he didn't hear.

"I'm going to make you pay for it, somehow." It didn't really sound like a threat, more like a petulant manner of making sure he was the injured party and was privy to retribution of some kind.

"I'm trembling in fear. _Really_," Harry muttered dully, casting a glance at his watch. "Please, oh please, protect me from the ferret and his shaking fist of doom."

Opening his mouth again, ready to utter a string of profanity, Draco suddenly blinked. "Ferret?"

"Inside joke," Harry retorted with a small smirk of his own –which looked strangely natural on his face. Using the brief window of Draco's speechlessness, Harry merrily waved at him, "Well Malfoy, see you at school tomorrow. Adios."

Draco sneered at his back and lingered just a little longer in front of the mirror to straighten his hair. Just when he hauled his rucksack over his shoulder, he heard Harry's voice loudly at the end of the hallway, the echoing making the words incomprehensible.

Arching an eyebrow, Draco walked out into the corridor, wondering what the cretin had gone and done to himself. What he saw however was far more disturbing than he would ever have thought. Harry was hanging with his full weight on the handle of the door, pulling fiercely, eventually putting his right foot against the wall next to it to add even more strength. Just as Draco came up behind him, Harry whirled around, face flustered and breathing heavily.

His nose not even an inch from Draco's, Harry bellowed somewhat hysterically; "We're locked in!"

Ears ringing with the volume of the other's voice, Draco took a step back and blinked at him in a bewildered manner, "What?"

The youth was tugging at the door with almost aggressive jerks, "Hagrid must've thought we were done and had gone home, while we were in the bathroom and left as well. But he locked the door." He gave one final pull at the handle and then stomped away angrily.

Eyes widening, Draco stepped into his place immediately, rattling the doorknob. "Nonononono…" he chanted almost frantically. "Not happening. This is not happening." And then even went as far as planting both feet on the wall either side like he was abseiling, pulling on the handle with all his might.

Chewing his lower lip anxiously, Harry slowly spoke, "Maybe we can climb through a window."

Briefly a hopeful glimmer sparked in Draco's eyes before he suddenly sneered, arrogance reasserting itself, " And break our necks? Potter, we are on the fourth floor!"

"Then what, genius? You have a better idea?" Harry replied sourly.

"I do." The blonde bit out sharply, before taking a moment to think of one. "Just call home or something, they might get hold of a teacher."

Harry sighed, "I don't have my mobile phone with me, so you'll have to do it."

Before he knew it, Draco had seized him by the front of his long-sleeved shirt and was shaking him until his teeth rattled, "What do you mean you don't have it? Are you stupid? Do you _want _to spend your night here?"

Harry shoved him away somewhat breathlessly, head pounding, "I don't have it, you ass, so lay off. Why can't you do it?"

"Because there isn't any money on it! And because my parents won't care if I show up or not, and unless someone else decides to call me, I can't contact anyone. Just _be_ called!" He all but roared.

"I though you were a fucking rich-boy Malfoy, now don't tell me you can't pay for your own phone bills. And if you're too stupid to do it, won't your daddy?" Harry snarled, directing all his frustration at him. "Or doesn't he like you? Maybe he knows what kind of asshole his son is and that's why he doesn't bloody care!"

"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!" Draco spat at him and gave a powerful shove, so Harry stumbled into the wall. Then he turned, in another attempt to get the door to yield.

For much longer than Harry liked to dwell on they took turns at struggling with the door in stubborn silence. Nothing proved successful; Draco tried picking the lock, Harry somehow unbalanced its hinges by levering it up with the handle of a broom. In the end Harry even went as far as throwing all his strength and weight into it, and after a while Draco joined him, ramming against it with their combined efforts. The door itself, made from fine oak, didn't even do as much as shudder.

Cold beyond any belief, angry, confused, very tired and hungry, Harry slid down the wall, a gloomy set to his face. Draco jiggled the handle quite desperately, not able to cope with the dismal scenario that had presented itself.

"Give it up, Draco." Harry mumbled softly, pulling his glasses off his nose and putting them carefully in his lap, "We're just going to have to sit the night out and hope somebody will miss us and come looking."

Too tired to be angry at him any longer, Draco slumped down to the ground next to him, allowing his head to sink into his hands, silvery strands of hair poking out from between his fingers.

"At least we've got a lavatory and a vending machine on this floor," Harry offered with a weak smile.

Peeking at him from between the locks of hair dangling in front of his face, Draco shook his head incredulously, "How can you be so fucking calm?" His voice came out unusually small and trembling.

Harry smiled encouragingly, " And the _coffee machine_." He nudged him with his knee.

He nudged back, and was trying to return the smile, though he failed to see how Potter could so easily forget their words from earlier and now even try to cheer him up. But he was more than fed up with their situation to care at the moment, and also realized in some dim corner of his mind that he'd better go along with it. As it seemed they would be in each other's company for the rest of the night.

Meanwhile Harry had heaved himself up and was offering him a hand, "Let's go check it out. Maybe if we can get you some coffee, you'll calm down."

"It's that obvious, is it?" Draco asked, referring to his 'coffee addiction'.

"Quite." Harry said, and grinned at the blond's frown.

Some time later, past midnight even, they had made themselves as comfortable as possible near the door, sitting opposite of each other, coffee, sodas and snacks littered the floor between them. Draco was soaking a bar of chocolate in the coffee, bringing it up after it had melted to suckle on it. When he caught Harry watching him, he offered the last morsel, and the other accepted it, despite its stickiness and the fact it melted even further between his fingers.

"Coffee?" Draco tentatively suggested lifting his plastic cup, as he watched Harry lick his fingers clean with obvious relish.

"Yes please." Harry said, and took a big gulp that almost scorched his throat. At least it made him feel a little warmer.

As they continued the strange ritual –with Draco dipping chocolate in coffee and offering every other morsel to him- Harry found himself relaxing, besides still shivering from being so chilled. He was quite unaware of Draco's private nervousness at sharing such a gesture, as it seemed strangely intimate to him.

Meanwhile they chatted about everything and nothing, but not without the occasional awkward silence.

"So what are you planning to do?" Harry asked, feeling he'd been holding some sort of monologue while he had talked about his plans for after school.

After a small silence, during which Draco opened another candy bar, and dipped the chocolate into his cup again, the blonde looked up with a somewhat thoughtful expression. He crested his light colored eyebrows in a slight frown and pursed his lips. "I don't know. I've always wanted to do documentaries abroad… freelance, you know. But, well…" he trailed off, and belatedly realized his chocolate bar had been so long in the warm liquid it had started dissolving. Hastily he put it into his mouth, the chocolate running down his fingers as he did so.

"Why not?" Harry asked curiously, having recognized the 'well' as if the whole notion was improbable.

"I don't know." Draco mumbled, "My mother said it wouldn't get me anywhere in my life."

"As long as you love what you're doing, if it makes you feel okay, then why don't go ahead with it." Harry pointed out, " And it'd be interesting; you'd see loads of places and meet interesting people."

For a moment Draco was quite unsure how to respond to that, because it was Potter who was pep-talking him and actually encouraging him. He put down his candy and blinked into his cup, not quite sure of what he was feeling.

"What?" Harry prompted after a while.

"I just haven't… well; though about it like that. Just doing it because I want to." He admitted in that same small voice that seemed to wrench something in Harry's gut.

Harry was incredulous, "Of course you have to do what you want, and especially if it feels like it's something you _have_ to do. You can't expect to run your life by someone else's standards."

Silent, Draco stared hard at the tiles of the floor. Harry had just brushed over the one subject that hurt the most. "I guess you're right." He whispered after a while.

"Of course I am." Harry said lavishly.

"Now you're getting cocky. I'm quite sure the world just spun out of its axis. Enjoy the moment while you can." He said, regaining something of his cool, slightly aloof attitude.

Harry grinned and threw a crumpled wrapper at him. Then he gestured at his face, "You've got chocolate on you chin."

"Where?" Draco demanded, scrubbing with the back of his hand over his face.

"Just there…" Harry pointing at his own face, "Oh, just let me…" and he crawled on hands and knees over to Draco's side of the hallway, and rubbed his thumb just under the curve of the blonde's lower lip.

Draco quite forgot how to breathe for a moment, with Harry so up close in his personal space. His first instinct was to flinch away, but he managed just to freeze and hold still. Wide-eyed he gazed at the other's face, and noted that the tip of Harry's tongue was caught between his lips as he concentrated. The strange pressure in his chest increased when Harry glanced up, looking into his eyes, and startled to find what must have showed on his face.

Draco remembered to breathe again when Potter was safely back where he should be, and puzzled about his own reaction just then.

Harry ventured to break the silence, wishing he knew what was circulating in Draco's head that could make him look so very frail and isolated. He didn't quite understand everything that they had just talked about and felt he was missing something very obvious. Most of all, he was afraid that he'd made Draco uncomfortable by coming so close and touching him thus; boys didn't do that with one other.

The night wore on, and both grew tired, but sleep was elusive. Draco sprawled against the wall, eyes heavy-lidded. On the other hand, Harry was huddling, knees drawn up to his chest and arms around them.

"So how did you get that scar anyway?" Draco asked, peering at the profile of the youth's face outlined in blue shadows.

Harry's chest heaved as he drew in a deep breath. "I got it in a car accident when I was two."

"Some car accident," Draco said with a snort, referring to the small size of the scar.

"Yeah well, it did kill both my parents and send me crashing through the front window." He said with an acid edge to his words.

Draco went very still. All Harry could see of him were two light grey eyes, blinking at him owlishly, not quite able to hide their shock. "I'm sorry." He said softly.

"Yeah, me too." Harry replied, but without the venom in his voice.

Draco stared at his hands. The small sounds of the autumn night filled up the big rift between them for quite a while.

"I don't remember much of it. Just the screaming of my mother as the car flipped and finally crashed into a tree. I live with my Godfather now." Harry sighed, leaning his chin upon his knees, "They wanted to show me the sea."

Nodding, but not quite sure why, Draco didn't offer any words of sympathy; they'd all be empty after a revelation like this anyway. He wanted to ask so many questions now, some borne out of a morbid curiosity. Instead he studied Harry for a while and again realized that besides the shaking, his teeth were clattering now, too. He zipped up his backpack, and fished out his sweater, now very rumpled from being balled up in a space so small.

Harry caught the garment that was tossed at him. He looked at his companion with a bemused expression.

"Your teeth are clattering so loudly it's getting on my nerves." He claimed by ways of explanation, but there was a warmer undertone to it too.

Grateful, Harry tugged the garment on. As he pulled it over his head, he breathed in the clean smell of soap mixed with what was Draco's own scent. His belly went very warm. He could feel it spreading up over his chest and then flush his cheeks. Harry could only be very grateful that the night cloaked the color. Pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around it, Harry surreptitiously breathed in again, and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

A long silence, but one that was not heavy and uncomfortable spanned the next few minutes. Harry eventually even drew up the hood of the sweater, and at long last managed to still the clattering of his teeth. Opposite of him, Draco slumped against the wall, and kept rubbing his eyes as they went scratchy with exhaustion.

"Draco."

"Hmmm."

"Why is it that you pick on Ron?" Harry asked. The blunt question rang sharply into the darkness of the hallway.

There was a small silence. Then, "Dammit Potter! Damn you. Why do you have to go and ruin it? Can't you just leave it? _No_, you have to go and poke at it like a child picking at a scab."

"Regarding your behavior back then, I think it is a _very_ valid question," Harry bit back at him, "Besides, what was there to ruin? It's not like I'm your best buddy or anything."

Draco opened his mouth, his lips pulling back in a sneer, and then abruptly, and then abruptly he stopped, choking back what he'd been about to say. Setting his jaw, he glared at a spot on the wall somewhere to the right above Harry's head.

As always, when it was too late, Harry realized his grave error. He had not recognized the very subtle extending of reconciliation between the two of them until he had gone ahead and trampled it. "I didn't mean to…" he began, but Draco cut him of in an almost violent fervor.

"NO! _Of course_ you didn't, nobody ever means it, but then they go ahead and do it anyway." He snarled at him, baring his teeth in a feral way.

"HEY!" Harry roared back, but just to get his attention, "I'm sorry okay, I didn't mean to ruin…this. I just… Look, Ron's my friend and I want to protect him. But…I like you, too, and I just wish we could…"

"We? Good gracious, Potter, there is no 'we'. There is you and Weasley and there is me. And just…" he trailed off, the anger ebbing out of his voice, as his brain finally processed all Harry had said. He stared, mouth still open at what he was about to say, but was now forgotten.

Harry blinked, wondering why Draco was sort of gaping at him. He lifted an eyebrow inquiringly.

"You like me?" he asked, voice gone small.

"Like you? Oh um…" Harry winced at the sound of his own voice. He though he'd already gone through that part of puberty already, so why did his voice have to start squeaking all of a sudden? "Like I friend, I meant." He added hastily, nearly hanging on the word 'friend' in his frenzy to get it out.

Harry was hyper-aware of his body at the moment, and suddenly decided he must look like a fool to sit as a huddling child. So he all but flung his legs into a sprawled sitting-position, similar to Draco's and all but almost accidentally kicked him in the progress. Did his hair look weird? Did it stuck up again in the back? He wished he had paid attention to his reflection earlier that evening. Wait. Could Draco even_ see_ his hair in the dark of the night?

Arching an eyebrow as he hastily pulled his leg away from the sudden spasm the other made, Draco continued their conversation, "Of course as a friend, as what else?" he demanded incredulously.

Harry felt his mouth open to say something disarming, but no words came out. As if that wasn't enough, he made another big mistake by looking straight into Draco's eyes. With some sort of a jolt he saw the other's eyes widen suddenly.

As he groped for words he did not find, the door slammed open so powerfully that Harry narrowly avoided it smashing his face by half leaping to his feet and stumbling sideways.

Before any coherent thought crossed his mind, Harry found himself enveloped in a bone-splintering embrace by a scarcely dressed Sirius Black, and a bleary-eyed Remus Lupin standing several paces behind him, reserve-key in hand.

--

"I can't _believe_ I said that." Harry groaned into his hands, "I just hope he's as blond as he looks and doesn't interpret it wrong."

Cedric managed to hide most of his grin behind his teacup and exchanged a glance with Sirius, before saying, "Well, you kind of _meant_ it that way, if you're honest. You do _like_ him with romantically related interests in mind."

As response, Harry groaned only louder in his hands, and started rubbing his temples with his fingertips.

"You've always been horrible at lying Harry; you can't do it without keeping your face straight." Sirius remarked airily, as if by some way it might console him that he were doomed to fail anyway when a conversation around that topic turned up.

A baleful look was all Harry managed at that, before taking a scoring gulp of his steaming coffee, which he felt go down all the way. Even that didn't distract him from the pounding headache he had acquired after his late-night misadventure with Malfoy. Not only had he slept for only four hours, now he had a headache and an anxious feeling to deal with as well.

"You are blowing it out of proportion anyway, if you ask me." Sirius went on, waving his hand in dismissal.

"Well, I'm not asking you and neither will you have to handle the shit when my homosexuality comes out," Harry grumbled sourly as he stared out of the window of _Everlind's_. Outside on the little square an old lady was feeding the birds, tossing breadcrumbs around for them. The first touches of autumn were visible on the yellow-going-red leaves that clung dryly to the branches of the trees. At Saturday before noon business at the deli was slow, and but for four more occupants it was deserted.

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic, kid." Said Sirius, and let out his familiar bark of laughter, not at all daunted by Harry's sourness.

Setting his mug of coffee on the table with a sharp 'clunk', Harry retorted, "Well, this is not the city, but a small village, people here are not so open-minded and-"

Now it was Cedric who snorted in his tea, "Such clichés, you don't really believe this yourself, do you? It doesn't matter where; there will always be people who will be disgusted, or suspicious, fanatic or aggressive. Just as there are people who don't care and still want to be friends of you despite all prejudices. It's never easy."

"Yeah," Sirius followed up, nodding, " And you've never been a coward, it never daunted you before. Why is it so different now? You'll only look more ridiculous if it comes out through a bit of gossip."

Slumping back in his seat and staring at his faint reflection on the window morosely, Harry lied awkwardly, "I don't know." And at Sirius' eye rolling and Cedric's sigh, he corrected, "I'm not sure, really, and if it is why I think it is, then it's so ridiculous that I'd rather not talk about it.'

That was as close he could come to admitting to himself that he'd rather not have Malfoy know it, lest he would pull a one-eighty and go all nasty to him, too. Though, on the other hand, Draco tolerated Darragh perfectly well, going as far to have established a sort of friendship with him. Harry drew in a breath and held it, thinking to himself it would get awkward between them anyway. More awkward than it already was, and at least now they could interact without the added tension.

"Well, that was nice and cryptic." Sirius scoffed, interrupting Harry's train of thought.

Cedric was frowning, "You're being ridiculous," was all he had to say to that.

At that, Harry felt even more down, because now his childhood friend dismissed his behavior as ridiculous. It hurt even more because he knew Cedric was right. So:

"I know," he ground out, raking his fingers through his thick hair, "I know you're right." Saying those words helped to bolster his resolve, and he sat up straighter, declaring: "Okay, right, I'm ending this bloody shit as soon as possible. Who cares what they think or do about it? They can kiss my hairy butt."

Cedric sipped from his tea, "Your butt's not hairy," he said from over the rim of the cup.

"How would you know?" Sirius prompted, pretending to be quasi-suspicious and wagging a cookie at him.

"Hello? Trying to make a point here?" Harry raised his voice, as Cedric got throttled by his dessert.

"Yeah, though mate, we got it. You don't care; everybody kisses your butt… as long as you pass them by me for inspection." Said Sirius; leaning his chin on his fist lazily and peering at the remainder of his cookie.

"Talking about people kissing each other's butt…" Cedric began, and Harry knew that the tone could not mean anything good. "How are you and Remus doing?"

Harry half sprayed a mouthful of coffee all over himself. Coughing weakly he managed, "Talk about a change of topic."

Shrugging casually, Cedric said, "Just interested."

Fascinated as to how this new train of conversation was going, Harry sat back down on his chair, one eye coming out disturbingly clear between his overgrown fringe. He would never have dared to ask such a thing so boldly, not that he was any good in this kind of heart-to-heart and love-life conversation. He tended to avoid those with particular enthusiasm, only Darragh and Cedric seemed to get him so spill a little, though even then mostly reluctantly.

Sirius was very much engrossed with his cookie, so that if he stared at it any harder his eyes might just plop out of his head.

"Still like that, eh?" Cedric mumbled, nodding sagely.

"Still like that." Harry confirmed.

"Denial."

"Yup." Harry said.

"Tragic."

"Tell me about it. He's been pining after him since-" Harry paused, rubbing his chin, smudging his face more so with coffee, "Since when again, Sirius?"

Sirius mumbled something that sounded like 'ommtwenyer'.

"What?" both Harry and Cedric chorused.

Sirius ground out slowly, "Over twenty years…"

"TWENTY years?" Cedric all but shouted, not even caring to hide the genuine shock on his face.

"Twenty friggin' years…" Harry echoed numbly.

"Blimey, you must really be getting desperate-" 

Harry threw a cube of sugar his way, which hit him square on the forehead. Though it silenced him, Cedric had said enough to have Sirius' face take a turn towards what could be described as a cloudy weather-forecast with chances of thunder and lightning for the next few days.

"You and your big mouth," Harry hissed at him.

Cedric frowned as if to say, hey, it's the truth.

The black haired boy just slapped his forehead and shook his head.

Trying to smooth over the awkward moment, Cedric mumbled, " Anyway…" he drew out the word long and dug helplessly in his mind for a decent thing to say, and only ended up pronouncing the uncomfortable silence even more so.

Harry glared at his friend, and Cedric shrugged again in apology. Harry tried for a new line of conversation, "So, Alex called this morning –you know the girl with the dreadlocks- canceling our project thing, because she had to go to a tattoo parlor or something. We're meeting up Sunday now."

"Oh," Cedric nodded, before his face twisted in a manner that suggested he had suddenly remembered something, "How about you? Is yours coming along any time soon?"

"Not until he's married and I'm dead, it is." Sirius muttered loud enough for both of them to hear.

"Says he who's got a whole chest full of ink and tried to pierce his own ear with a needle when he was sixteen…" Harry retorted smartly, pulling his long legs up on his chair to sit in Indian fashion, "Besides, I do believe you said, and I quote-" he made quotation marks with his fingers in the air, "okay, okay, just stop whining about it! But don't you think I'm paying as much as a penny to help you ruin your body."

Cedric put up his finger, "I was there, I was there! I'm witness!"

"That was not an official okay for you to get a tattoo, you little twerp." Sirius grumbled sourly.

"Hey, no crawling back, I got a summer job, remember, and earned enough to get one, _and_ I've turned seventeen and am allowed to get one with your permission." Harry reasoned, counting off on his fingers.

"Aw, c'mon Sirius, you're not being fair, you did say he was allowed to get one if he paid for it himself…" Cedric said, leaning sideways to peer into Sirius' face.

"I just don't want him to regret it… and sometimes it might give you a hard time getting a job…" he told them, picking on the hem of his sleeve as if it had done him some personal injustice.

"Yeah, I'll be sure to get one right on my forehead that says 'Yo' mamma sucks'" Harry said with a sarcastic roll of his eyes.

Cedric let out a hoot of laughter and ended up splashing tea on the front of his shirt, while Sirius, leaning back in his chair made a ha-ha-very-funny face as he crossed his arms.

"I'm just saying, that I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am, I do have some sense. Besides, I was thinking about getting something a little more…well special. Not on my arm, chest or shoulder." He explained, smirking behind his mug of coffee and feigning innocence. His left foot bounced up and down rhythmically, a rainbow colored sock he had not ever remembered buying, peeping out from his sneaker.

"Sure, fine!" Sirius exclaimed, throwing up his hands in defeat, "You get your bloody tattoo, and you can put it on your ass for all I care! But don't say I didn't warn you!"

Nudging his mug aside, Harry all but crawled up on the table to ruffle his Godfather's hair "Thanks, Sirius!"

Scowling and giving another tug at a stray thread of lint somewhat harshly, Sirius turned to Cedric, " And if anything goes wrong, I blame you."

Cedric just gave him a pleased grin in return and exchanged a meaningful look with his friend. "Well then, that's settled." He declared, " And I am afraid it is time for me to go home."

Feeling his mood darken again, Harry nodded numbly, "Yeah, I guess."

Cedric was leaving for London again today, and they had gone for a cuppa at Everlind's before Sirius drove him off to the station. The days had flown, as they always do just when you wish for more hours in a day. Watching Cedric shrugging on his jacket and leaving some money for the tea was almost enough for Harry to speak up and plead him to stay just a while longer. He did not want his friend to go. It hung unspoken between them that Harry could-no would- not go with him to the station, to wave him off. Their goodbyes had already been said, and dallying at the platform would only leave them both with an empty feeling.

The look on his face must really have been tale-telling because Cedric leaned down, captured his face between his hands and kissed him on the forehead. Harry couldn't say anything, and just tried to convey what he wished to say by looking his friend in the eye. With a fond smile, and a ruffle through Harry's wild black hair, Cedric turned and followed Sirius out of the deli.

Harry saw him go, and stared through the window. Unbidden, his lips formed the words, "See you next time, my friend."

Remarkably, Cedric halted as he was ducking into the car, turned his gaze unerringly at where Harry was, and winked.

It was like that that Harry remained sitting there by the window, pouring himself full of coffee, and generally having a morose feeling of discontent about him. He was picking at a scone as he wrote the fundaments of a short-story, when he became aware of a rather familiar voice in the booth next to him. He knew that not so long ago, twenty minutes or so, two people had taken place there, but then he was too engrossed in his writing to have paid any mind. Of course what caught his ears was enough to disperse his rapt attention of his work and to –to his great shame- begin to eavesdrop.

"-it's nothing to with what Draco's said about it." A raw contralto voice said harshly. "This has nothing to do with anyone else but you and me."

"I know he doesn't like her ever since she said…well, you know." replied her male companion.

There was a disgusted scoff. "That being as bad enough as it is, _don't_ change the fucking subject." There was a somewhat Irish accent in the voice that betrayed her identity.

"Actually it's none of your business, you know. Just hers and mine." The male got defensive now.

Alex's patience was rapidly giving way to her anger, and the tone in her voice betrayed it, "None of my business? Well, that's nice to know. Nice indeed. It seems that your dear, lovely Reya has gotten what she wanted, isn't it? Time for me to disappear from the picture, never mind that you are as close as I've ever had for family." A mug was set down with such force that Harry was surprised that he didn't hear it shatter.

"Don't you dare use that against me now, just don't. And don't talk about Reya like that." The young man all but growled.

"As you wish, I am sure." Alex said disdainfully.

The other person took a deep breath, as if to steady himself. Harry was very aware that what he was doing was wrong, and no doubt what he was hearing was very, _very_ private. But he could not seem to help himself. He sat very still.

"Reya and I love each other… why can't that be enough for you?" Now there was pleading in his voice, and a tremor.

"Gloves," Alex said and swallowed audibly, "Why do you make me repeat it when you know the bloody answer?" There was a silence which was almost a plea from her to not make her say it. But the silence lengthened, and now it was Alex's time to draw a deep, trembling breath. "She doesn't love you. Not in the complete way you do her." She spoke almost aggressively over his indignant reply, "No, you made me say it, damn you, so I fucking will. If she loves you, why then does she still say your hands disgust her, that you should be grateful that she even allows you to touch her with them? Why then, does she now, only after you inherit that fortune, want to live with you? You have a job, you earn your living more than enough, but now, when you are by default rich, she will demand that it is time you live together. And suddenly, lo and behold, she's supposed to be pregnant? Does she really think it necessary to try and make you feel obliged to provide for her? Though, honestly, there will be no baby by next year, if you ask me. Nor for the years after that, imagine what havoc it could wreak on her figure, the thought alone-"

"Enough." The word was spoken soft, but clearly, and a great deal of mixed emotions was shielded behind it. "Don't you dare cheapen what is between us. What do you know about it? Maybe Reya _is_ right, you're only jealous because you've hoped that it would be us that would live together, but instead I've chosen my girl."

"Oh, don't be such a dolt. Of course I've wanted for us to live together, we've done so for almost three years now, and longer before that. But I love you as a brother, and I would be able to let you go graciously if it were not for that little lady friend of yours… and now I am risking everything between us to make you understand just what you are committing yourself to. And by the Gods, it's not only me, it's Draco and Blaise, it's even Datum and Jinx, and Rufus and-"

"None of you understand!" Gloves all but shouted in the little restaurant, making several heads turn abashedly, " And you are just a selfish, ungrateful little-" a pause and then a shuddering gulp of breath, "As I said: enough. I don't need to hear this. If you can't be happy for me, then it's better that you… that we don't see each other again." By the thick quality of Gloves' voice it was clear that there were tears.

For more than a few painfully bleeding heartbeats, Alex was perfectly silent. "Very well, then, my brother. Goodbye." Her voice was so controlled that she almost sounded cold.

"Alex, I-"

"Goodbye, Gabriël. Don't forget your gloves, lest Reya sees you without them."

There seemed nothing for them left to say. And thus, after a few seconds, footsteps moved towards him from the booth next to him, and Harry glanced up at the person that stormed by. He vaguely recognized him as the scar-faced man he had seen once when Ron, Hermione, Dean, Finbar and he had met here at the very start of the school year. With a loud bang the door slammed shut behind him as he disappeared into the dreary rain outside.

After a few moments, Madam Rosmerta drifted over to the booth next to him. "Are you alright dear? Is there anything I can get you? It's on the house."

"Thanks," her voice sounded parched, and most of all weary, "Hot cocoa, if you don't mind."

"Of course, dear." And she disappeared to get just that.

Harry sat torn between his heart and his mind. The rational part of him said very clearly that it was a bad, bad, _baaad_, idea to go and sit with Alex. Besides the few times they had worked on aesthetics and the few conversations they'd had, they knew nothing of each other. If he sat down by her, she would know he had overheard, he did not know how she would react to that and lastly; he had no _clue_ what to do. He was socially handicapped if it came to situations like these, and avoided them wisely. More so, he hated situations like these.

Yet his heart told him that it was the least it could do; to sit by her.

After a few struggling moments where he juggled the pros and cons, he eventually dragged himself to his feet and shuffled to the booth where Alex sat, her face hidden in her hands. It was only when he sat down next to her that she looked bewildered up at him.

"Harry."

"Hi." He said somewhat sheepishly, glancing sideways to her face.

To her credit, there were no tears. On the other side, the look in her eyes suggested she was way beyond those. The pallor was a sickly sheen beneath her tan and her usually freakish glowing eyes were dull.

"You don't have to feel like you-" She began somewhat awkwardly.

"It's alright." He interjected hastily, "I don't know what to say anyway." He added with a little laugh.

Alex smiled, too, but there was no positive emotion in it at all. "Neither do I."

In the silence that followed, Rosmerta returned with Alex's cocoa, and somehow with a second one for him, which she offered with a fond wink. Well, Harry thought to himself, at least Madam Rosmerta appreciates my gesture.

"I know it's none of my business…" Harry began with difficulty, "But if you…well, oh, I'm no good at this." He scowled, feeling himself hopelessly inept and useless.

This time there was a real smile on her face, "Oh Harry, you make it hard for me to wallow in my self-pity." She bumped shoulders with him playfully, before gingerly sipping from her cocoa.

Harry felt himself grin in return.

"Maybe, you're right, if I just talk about it to someone who isn't already caught up in this mess. If you…if you don't mind." She added belatedly.

"The offer still stands, though I thought you had to go to that tattoo parlor." He queried, nipping from his own mug and inhaling the soothing fragrance of the drink.

"Yes, I should still. But Rufus will understand I think; besides I've got two hours left." Alex answered, dipping the cookie in her cocoa.

And it was thus that Harry learned the truth.

Alex was an orphan, her mother having abandoned her father, to go live with another, wealthier lover, leaving her two 'mishaps' with the grief-stricken man. Her dad had all but wasted away two winters later. She didn't over-indulge in the details of her past, but it was clear that Gabriël was the reason she had been plucked off the streets. The scar on his face was an evidence of that. What had exactly happened to her older brother, she didn't say.

She had lived together in a small apartment with six other youngsters, all either parentless or having run away out of sheer desperation, for the better part of her life. Around the age of ten, she had been spotted and turned in at an orphanage together with Gabriël. Quickly enough she was adopted, but the by then sixteen year old Gabriël had never had a chance against the younger competition. He was scarred in the face, and his hands horribly disfigured by an accident in a burning building, that being why he always wore gloves. Hence the nickname.

The young Alex, rebelling against separation from what she had become to see as her brother, was passed on from one family to the other. Then there was a part she brushed away, something that had happened at her previous school, which led to the final expulsion from an adoption family. So now she still lived at the orphanage, up until recently with Gloves, both doing a generous amount of chores around there and trying to scrape together money to pay at least a little back to the wonderful staff who allowed them to stay. Hence why Alex modeled nude, it was a way to earn her scholarship fee. Dumbledore, kind as ever, had arranged that that was all she needed to do to earn her education and ultimately her diploma. She had doubled her share of years while being juggled from one family to another in different parts of the country, and was now quite bored in class, as she was already far beyond the current level.

All that accounted in a small way to the present. Gloves, now twenty-five, had fallen for a young woman named Reya. The latter had all but scorned him in the beginning, finding him ugly and a person dangling on the lowest rung in society. That compared to the sheer wealth of her family and her unsurpassed beauty had resulted in behavior towards Gloves that was usually reserved for the worst kind of criminals. And then, maybe because Gloves had the power to attract people, or maybe with some ulterior motives, she had turned to him after finding out her current boyfriend had slept with another girl. Gloves, poor besotted fool, had welcomed her into his life. Reya didn't like Alex. And Alex most certainly didn't like Reya.

"Gloves says I'm very good at holding grudges, and that her despicable behavior was normal seeing the circumstances." Alex was saying.

Harry was shaking his head, "I don't think there are ever circumstances that would allow someone to call another person a 'misshaped mongrel'." He said, recalling what Alex had said earlier.

"Well, yes, that was what I said. And of course, the only conclusion was that I was jealous. Oh well, anyway; she has been turning his head so badly he can't tell his back from his front. And now, gods know why that person has never, ever before tried to contact him, but an uncle has bitten the dust and left Gloves filthy rich. Funny how things turn out. And, yes, now of course, Reya says she's pregnant, and that he had better look for a house and a better job, and a car and… so on and so forth." She nodded to herself, "Well, and that's what that shit was about a moment ago." And as if to conclude that, she tossed back the rest of her cocoa.

"Well damn." Was all Harry could offer.

"Exactly my thoughts." She said with a sigh. "It all sounds like some bloody soap-opera, but I think my life is a lightening-rod for seriously fucked-up situations."

Harry, his chin nestled on his arms, peered up at her face, "I don't know what to say. I wish I could tell you something that was more than just some words, but…" he conceded somewhat timidly.

"You've done more than what most people would have, Harry. You don't know me, and still… well, thank you." she said, gazing earnestly into his eyes.

Baffled at such genuine gratitude, Harry just nodded at her.

A few minutes later they were strolling over the little court, the miserable rain weighing Harry's hair down in thick tresses. They were sort of ambling in the general direction of the tattoo parlor, taking a round about route through the park.

Harry had wrapped a red and golden-orange striped scarf around his neck, so that only his eyes peeped over the rim. The old leather jacket from Sirius was buffeted with the gust of rain and wind, but kept him surprisingly snug. His hair was flapping around his head in a wild dance of soggy black.

"Seems like we ended up spending the afternoon together anyway," Harry commented after a short time of walking in companionable silence.

Alex smiled up at him. She was dressed in a way Harry had not seen before; wearing red stockings and a short denim skirt. She was huddling in a thick, beige turtleneck sweater, and a colorfully knitted cap was pulled over her dreadlocks. Her red converse shoes were dark with the rain. The two of them made a rather funny sight.

"Ah, well, I don't think I'd have the mind for much brainpower and school-related subjects at the moment. And I don't think you'd have either, with your midnight escapade with Draco," Said Alex, kicking a pinecone in front of her, in a direction so he could intercept it and then pass it back to her.

Harry ducked deeper into his scarf to hide his expression, "Heh. Yeah."

"Man, Draco was such a cranky ass this morning when I called him, he sounded really rough." She revealed to him conspiratorially.

His body went taut with dread, "I just hope he doesn't go all nasty on me now… like with Ron. He's made it clear he doesn't really like me." It sounded petulant, even to his own ears, and he belatedy wished he'd chosen his words differently.

Alex let out a throaty chuckle, "Oh don't worry about that. He only acts that way towards you because he doesn't want to admit to himself that he likes you."

There was a stark silence in which Alex look flustered, as if she'd said something she wasn't sure if she should have. While Harry bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood in an effort to keep the monstrous grin from his face.

"Well, anyway." Alex sort of announced out of the blue, "Gloves also had a weekend-job at the local grocery store, but seeing as it is something below her Highness's status, he had been forced to give it up. Poor old Madeye probably won't know what's gotten into his employee. Gloves had been working there for almost seven years."

Harry tried to keep his face straight and actually understand what she was telling him. But the sudden change of topic was not nearly enough to keep his spirits from soaring. After mulling over her words longer than ordinarily necessary, he exclaimed, "Job?"

"Uh, yeah." Alex said, peering up at him suspiciously, "At Madeye's."

"Oh." His mind raced with the possibility of a new job to earn some money, "Hm, d'you think you could tell me where to find the grocery? I think I might hear if he'd like to have another hand to help out in the weekends."

"Sure. But I'm warning you, Madeye Moody is a weird and cranky old badger… most of the time he acts as if he's running a military encampment, instead of a grocery. But for all his paranoia, he pays fairly well." She confided to him.

Harry found himself both curious and wary of the first encounter with the old man. In any case, as Alex was calling him 'Madeye' it promised to be interesting.

They wandered from one topic to another, and finally indulged themselves in school gossip. "Snape sent them straight to Dumbledore's office. But later Hannah sort of told me he'd only recommended them a better cupboard than the one on the fifth floor." Alex said with a fond grin.

Harry was smiling in return, his regard for the old headmaster elevated every day. "Though I doubt they'd use it now, seeing as the whole school knows about their little tryst."

"Hannah is mortified, the poor lass." Alex said with a shake of her head. " And by the way, Harry, way to go." She nudged him with her elbow. "Trying to keep it a secret won't do, you know. D'ya think you could spare me some juicy details?"

His look must've been so nonplussed, that Alex almost immediately sensed that they weren't at all on the same level. The corner of her mouth dropped somewhat, as the grin melted from her face.

"Cho?" Alex prompted, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"What about her?" Harry asked, a rather sharp edge to his tone.

"Whoops." She sort of muttered to herself, "Well, she sort of…kind of… Oh, I don't want to be the one to tell on her."

"Well, you had better tell me, 'cause it seems I've been doing some stuff I'm not really aware of," said Harry somewhat darkly.

Alex seemed genuinely torn, between her honour of wanting to tell the truth and not wanting to blab on Cho, and perhaps thus hurt her feelings.

"Enlighten me please, oh fair maiden, and none will hear from me that the word of truth came from your lovely lips." Harry tried with a foppish little bow and innocent green eyes.

A shove was what he initially got in reply, before she muttered "Oh, ok, she sort of let it seem that you'd appeared very interested in her. And oh…" Alex scratched at her nose to hide her face from him, "That you-might-have-done-something-with-her-in-the-attic-classroom."

"WHAT?"

She pulled him to her side by his sleeve and shushed him, "I might have just read into it to much, maybe she was joking and I didn't get it." She sort of made a failing attempt to keep Cho out of harm's way.

"But I haven't done anything with anybody!" he protested loudly.

And Alex hushed him again when an elderly couple looked up with proper scandalized expressions at the assumption that anyone would do anything with someone. Or something like that.

"I know that now. Hoo-boy. Me and my big mouth." She said sheepishly, " And even so I guess you're not 'the kiss and tell-type', are you?" Alex looked up at him with sparkling eyes.

"Of course not!" The idea alone mortified him. He could see it happening already, with him boasting 'yeah I snogged that real hot bloke from sixth grade, bit of a screamer really' and then getting a mob of animalistic homophobes all over him, who would probably bury him chin-deep next to the lake and then throw stones at him. And his remains would be left behind for the giant squid that was rumored to dwell in the depths of the lake.

"Good man, Harry, good man." She praised him, unknowing that momentarily Harry was keener on protecting his hide and hair than worrying about some poor sod's dignity.

"But do try not to be too hard on her? 'Cause it seems she really likes you." she added softly.

"If she really liked me, she wouldn't be saying things like that behind my back. We've hardly ever spoken to each other." Was his indignant reply. Sure, Cho was really pretty, and he dared say that if he was interested in girls he would probably have returned the sentiment. And then this rumor would have been flattering.

She left him to mull over that as they continued to plod through the miserably weather. When eventually she did grind to a halt before a glass window, Harry sort of wondered how he had end up spending almost his whole afternoon with Alex of all people and why he had even followed her to the tattoo parlor.

"Here we are." Alex announced unnecessarily, as if the photos, examples and posters of tribal patterns and other flashy body-art were not enough.

"I can see that," he said with a slight smirk and the he nearly pressed his nose up against the window to look at some piercings displayed neatly in a glass cabinet with rotating platforms. He arched an eyebrow at a certain kind of piercing that came rotating into view.

"Ouch." He said sympathetically, even though the body part in which the barbell winked was made out of plastic.

"…'S supposed to feel good though." Alex said dryly.

"Not for us, I bet." He responded with great conviction. At which Alex laughed heartily at his intonation.

Still snickering, Alex pushed open the door, which swung open with a tinkling of a bell, alerting the patron of customers. Harry immediately detected the smell of sterilized equipment and distillate. With a quick glance he was relieved to learn that it was actually rather pristine inside, small but well-foreseen.

"Hullo."

Harry nearly jumped right out of his skin as both he and Alex whirled around. He had to crane his neck back to look up into the man's face; he was easily over 6 feet tall. Unlike most tattooists this one wasn't nearly covered completely in tattoos, though he did have a black tribal mark trailing the underside of his left eye, as well as some tribal tattoos on his lower arms. But that wasn't quite what struck Harry so badly, it was the fact that this man had even redder hair than Ron's that was quite a shock.

"Damn it, Rufus. Don't sneak up on me like that." Alex rebuked him, clutching her chest dramatically.

For all her bravado, she didn't even reach his shoulder. She looked somewhat ridiculous compared to the sheer size of the man. Despite his shocking height alone, he was also very obviously well-built. Not in an ugly way, but most certainly in a way that suggested you didn't want any trouble with him. His green t-shirt strained around his well-proportioned shoulders. He was kind of hot.

In a scary way.

"So, how's business?" she asked him conversationally.

"Slow, I guess. As is expected this time of the year. Most people want to show off their ink when they take stroll on the beach in the summer. Plus that most conventions are over." He gave a shrug with one shoulder.

"You did pick a dump to start a business." Alex said in a way that betrayed that she'd cautioned him more than once.

"I get by. I'm taking courses in sculpting now." He said.

"Oh nice, you finally got over your initial shyness. Like it?"

"Yeah, quite. Tutor says I got the feeling in my fingers and an eye for the aesthetic." He looked somewhat proud at admitting this.

It was then that Harry realized that he was not so much older than them, maybe only six years, eight tops. But the word shy was not something he would ever have thought of associating with this Rufus guy. Already his neck was starting to strain from having to look up all the time. He tried to remember how it was to be a child, and why it was they never seemed to have any trouble with peering up all the time. If it was somewhat similar to this, he was surprised their necks didn't permanently stick in the same position. From now on he resolved to crouch down when talking to kids, to spare them the trouble of straining their necks.

Alex nudged him sharply, jostling him out of his wayward imagination. Obviously Rufus had just said something to him and he had simply blandly smiled back.

"Oh, uh, hi." He sort of muttered belatedly.

"Right." Rufus uttered with a roar of laughter.

Alex was shaking her head at him. Harry wondered what the hell he had just answered to.

"You're something different. I like that." Said Rufus and clapped him heartily on the back.

So heartily, in fact, that Harry's knees nearly buckled. All that brawn was not just for show then. He resolved to never be on the wrong end of that fist. Within the next few minutes Harry found himself being served fresh mint tea and sort of exploring the little shop. It was not long before he found himself flipping through the example books for tattoos. After a while Alex even handed him some post-it notes to mark his pages when he started running out of fingers.

There were many designs he rather liked. Most of them were even rather original, and soon Rufus proudly informed them that all of them were drawn by his hand. Also, he told Harry gravely, he never made the same one twice. And as he had suspected, both Alex' elaborate leg markings and Finbar's chest design were his work.

It was not long before he realized he was actually making a choice, with both Alex and Rufus peering over his shoulder and offering comments and suggestions. He began to get nervous when they were in the middle of a discussion of where to put it.

Was this really such a great idea? Wasn't this more on a whim than actual careful consideration? He would never be able to get rid of it again. Would Sirius approve?

When he was staring to chew his nails, Alex put a calming hand on his shoulder, "Hey, you look quite tense. Don't think we're trying to talk you into it. You just seemed so confident a while ago. I never intended to bring you here to force you into anything."

"Don't apologize, I'm just well…" he trailed off, thinking it sounded somewhat cowardly.

"It's good that you truly consider it." Rufus pointed out, "It's something that will be with you for the rest of your life."

Harry nodded absently, brushing his lips over the rim of his mug. Absently he was somewhat surprised that with the amount of coffee, cocoa and tea he'd had this day, his bladder hadn't spontaneously exploded on him already.

Fingers trailed the tattoo that had most of his favor lightly. He tried to imagine it with Alex's wonderful suggestion and Rufus' sketch to alter it as such. Forever on his body. In his mind's eye he saw Finbar's and Alex'.

Then he was dialing Sirius' number on his phone. He got more or less the answer he had anticipated. Next thing he knew he was shedding the clothing needed to expose his body. Rufus was laying out some instruments and Alex was hovering nearby. When she asked him if he needed to go to the bathroom before they started, Harry realized he was sort of dancing on the spot with urgency and whisked himself away to relieve himself.

Suddenly Rufus was coaxing him into a position that was somewhat comfortable, though his state of undress made him feel vulnerable. Especially with Alex' meaningful grin and choice remarks. The pattern was drawn onto his skin, and modified over and over again until both Rufus and he were satisfied.

When the prickling, burning sensation of the needle began, Alex was sitting at his head, keeping him distracted by asking all sorts of questions about his previous life in London. Which was enough to keep him occupied, because he wasn't about to blab he was gay just yet.

It took a long time. More than three hours. The only respite he had was that he had to alter his position thrice, with a short stroll each time to stretch his protesting limbs and back.

Alex went out for a short while, and when she came back she was clutching a bag of sweets in her hand, which she then proceeded to feed to him. All in all, he had expected the pain to be more severe, and had only twice needed to take a deep breath when Rufus went over a rather bony part and then over a patch of very sensitive skin.

The sky was long since darkening when Rufus finally told him it was done. Gingerly, he heaved himself to the edge of the table, before sliding down. Carefully, he put his hands on the small of his back and pressed, hearing the satisfying pop of each vertebra.

Rufus was leaning back in his chair, eyeing him with the eye of an artist critically observing a masterpiece. As if that was not enough scrutiny, Alex was sort of hiding most of her face behind her hand, but her green eyes were wide.

"Please tell me you don't have a secret girlfriend anywhere, because I would love to vouch for that position now." She said impishly.

"What about Draco?" he asked.

"Who's Draco?" she asked with such perfectly sweet innocence that he had to laugh.

"All that for a tattoo?" Harry said, daring himself to look at it for the first time.

"I've seen enough to know what I'd be getting." She all but leered at him and at his genuine shock, burst out in uproarious laughter. "But honestly, take a look at yourself."

She guided him to a man-tall mirror, and he had to clutch his garment to him to avoid flashing the whole room. When he stood before it, he barely believed his own eyes. All doubts were instantly expelled. He loved it. He told Rufus so.

The impressive man had the grace to look down, "Well, it's nice to know it's appreciated. You never know what a customer may do."

"No, really, it's amazing." He said passionately and even allowed himself to vainly turn and twist in front of the mirror to get a better look at it. In the reflection over his shoulder, he caught Alex wagging her eyebrows, and he immediately balled up his shirt and flung it at her. She caught it and clutched it to her face, muffling her laugher in it.

Her honest appreciation was incredibly flattering, and Harry had not known that the opinion of a girl could still matter so to him. He was blushing and the harder he tried to stop, the redder he became.

It was like this how Sirius walked in.

Remus was tagging behind and all but walked into Sirius motionless frame. He pushed him aside and demanded, "What's the matter? Is it that ba-… oh."

Harry wondered if it would be any more ridiculous if he hid behind Rufus. Having two fairly unfamiliar people staring at him was bad enough, but with his godfather and Remus, it was just down right horrible.

He sort of managed to stay where he was, and croak out, "Hi Sirius. Remus."

Sirius just stared. Glanced at Remus, though the other man had a look of profound amazement on his face, and then decided to stare some more.

Finally he managed: "Damn Harry, you shouldn't have taken it so literally."

LIEK ZOMG SHE UPDATED!11

…and yes aren't we all proud of me? I know I am. Despite it having taken longer than half a year… for which I've got good reasons… which we will talk about another time, savvy?

ANYWAY, all hail the almighty beta: _bewildered-muse._ (and I will add that I made loads of stupid mistakes, which she all doggedly purged from this chapter, so you guys would have a nice, typo-free, fanfiction-thingy to read)

Title credits: _Praise You_ from Fatboy Slim.


	11. Wicked Game

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.

But I do own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

Rating: rated M for suggestiveness and language. (Any other scene not suited/allowed on FFnet will be posted on my own site. I will let you know.)

Pairings: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Alex Ladon/Blaise Zabini, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger (and probably some minor others)

**Chapter Eleven - Wicked Game  
**

_"Your hands are on my arse, I thought we had a rule about that." - Harry Potter_

"Good All Hallow's Eve, Hogwarts!" Lee's voice boomed over the speakers. "Are you having a bloody good time?"

A deafening roar rose up from the crowd, and Harry looked up with a wince. Could the timing be any worse? He was just about to beat Ron at hangman on a beer card. When he turned back to their game, the card had mysteriously vanished and Ron was peering up at the stage with what Harry assumed was an avid look. Not that he could really tell since they were all wearing masks.

Harry supposed he should make something of an effort to 'get in the mood to party' as Seamus and Ginny had been trying to drill into his head all evening. It wasn't on purpose, really, this just wasn't his scene, especially when it required him being primped up for it. On top of that, it seemed nobody trusted his fashion sense. With much arguing he'd ended up with something that was _barely_ tolerable. He had a pair of black jeans, slightly baggy around his legs, and faded at the stress points. Borrowed from Darragh were the black belt with small spikes and a rather clingy, black t-shirt. The clingy part he didn't like, but you just can't argue with a girl, particularly if that if that girl was Ginny Weasley. Besides, it was that or the fish-net shirt, and Harry would rather spontaneously combust on the spot than ever pulling _that_ over his head. So clingy shirt it was.

While Lee was making introductions for the band, Harry's eyes scanned the front row of singers. Draco came striding up the podium, guitar slung over his shoulder. He was wearing a pair of trousers that seemed to cling and billow alternately, leaving very little to the imagination. A black, sleeveless turtleneck seemed to serve as second skin and pronounced his lean height even more so. Even his mask was black and one of very simple design, only two curves spreading sideways from where the nose was to hint at eyebrows. On those graceful slanted ridges, a row of very small sparkling white stones flickered crazily in the spots. His lips were wearing a slightly amused smirk as he gazed down at the crowd.

There was a surge of something inside Harry he'd never experienced before. Breathless in its wake, he forced himself to look at the other performers. But the taste of his heart remained in his throat, and swallowing against it didn't help.

Zabini was wearing much the same kind of pants, but in combination with a white-button up shirt and a forked coat. His dark brown curls were casually disarrayed and he'd have looked down-right handsome if it hadn't been for the disgusting mask. It seemed to be made of metal and looked to be quite convincingly mangled into his head, with a thick ridge of red-purple flesh protruding around the edges and shiny scars worming all over the bottom half of his face. At least it earned a ten for realism, but it raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Both Weasley twins were wearing a most hideous combination (and if even _Harry _deduced that, it was saying a lot) of magenta tuxedos and black leather jackets. Neville's lion mask barely hid his extreme anxiety, especially as he seemed to be hyperventilating.

The four lead singers took their respective positions by their microphones, Draco and Fred Weasley in the middle, Theodore Nott to the back and far left and Hazel to the right.

The whole hall was now cast in complete darkness as the spots centered their reddish light on the singers. Draco was adjusting the microphone's height just a little more and plucked experimentally on his strings. Then he spoke with a husky voice into the microphone, "We've been to hell and back to cook this up for you tonight. So you better bloody appreciate it." And with that typical comment coming from him, they began their set.

Not before long everybody was going out of their mind on the floor, and Harry tried to sidle to a more unobtrusive location where he would not be bumped and jostled from right to left. Ron seemed to have gotten lost in the mayhem. So basically he was alone now in this chaos, and well on his way to getting bored. Wondering what his next move should be, his hand started to inch towards the terrible, itchy, prickly- Gods, he just wanted to spend his whole evening plucking at the dark scabs that clung to his skin, peeling them off and-

"Stop picking at it." Someone with a deep baritone rumbled into his ear. Harry let out a rather embarrassing yip and clutched his chest as if he'd just suffered a heart trauma. "You'll end up with imperfections if you do, Harry. Try to concentrate on something else." Finbar said mildly.

"Like what?" Harry asked flatly, "The mob of people doing dangerous mating rituals I don't even want to know about?"

Making a show of rubbing his chin in a perfect imitation of some stereotypical villain in a super-hero flick, Finbar answered ponderously, "The concert?"

Harry decided to ignore that obvious statement. He wasn't feeling too cooperative anyway. "Besides it really, really, really itches! I've been fine all week, but now it's really-" he made a frustrated sound.

"I know." Finbar said with a grin.

"And I ruined a pair of sheets. When I went to sleep that Saturday, the whole pattern was printed near perfectly on the mattress. Sirius is taking it to the dry-cleaner because we can't get it out anymore," said Harry, remembering that awkward incident which resulted in a very disgruntled Godfather.

"It happens with the bigger tattoos; I ruined several t-shirts, too. But the dry-cleaner should do it." Finbar agreed, unconsciously rubbing his own tattoo through the fabric of his shirt, Harry following the motion with longing.

Draco's breathy tenor came wafting over to him and he lifted his eyes up. They were doing a nice job on Butterflies and Hurricanes. The shuddering melody Hermione coaxed out of her piano near whopped them over the head as if it were a physical touch.

"She looks good tonight." Finbar commented, gesturing with his bottle of lemonade.

Harry blinked, nonplussed.

"Hermione," he specified.

"Oh." That was true. Hermione had gone all out with her outfit. Her red dress was long with several layers, and seemed to swish ethereally around her legs. On her feet were little open slippers with a heel, giving that extra sway to her hips. Her face was all swirls and shimmering lines, her lips deep red. On the top of her head, her hair was done up in complicated braids and curls. It had to be impressive, if she and Ginny spent four hours in the bathroom for it.

"Ron sure seemed, uh, happy." He added awkwardly, remembering Ron's spontaneous groan when he first saw her. He tried to banish it from his thoughts as quickly as it had come.

Dean nearly stumbled into them at that moment. He seemed rather breathless, "Have you seen the Patil twins?! They're like a wet dream incarnate!"

Up on the stage Padma moved seductively to the music, her long dress somehow managing to flash more leg than a miniskirt would have. Her mask was topped by vibrant peacock feathers. And, on closer observation, she was most definitely not wearing a bra.

Harry scrunched up his nose and decided he liked Hermione's look better. She had class.

"_Your _wet dream incarnate." Finbar corrected him, arching an eyebrow in much the same fashion as Harry did. Opposed to all others, Finbar was not wearing a mask. After much pleading from the girls he had allowed them to do him up as Jack Sparrow, quite convincingly so, too.

"Oh c'mon!" Dean scoffed, "You're a _big boy_, Wolfman. You just can't think she's not feminine perfection." He nudged him conspiratorially with his elbow. When he didn't get an immediate answer to that, Dean pressed, "Well then, who do _you_ think is attractive?"

"Is there any possibility we could skip this conversation and get to the part where you're going to buy us a drink?" Finbar suggested blandly.

"Aw, come on." said Dean, and his eyes could be seen rolling through the holes in his mask, "You really believe I would spread it all over the school?"

Knowing Dean, it would be kept in proportion, and probably between the three of them, too. Finbar seemed to figure that out in the same breath as Harry, and he began somewhat grudgingly, "Well, I've always liked Angelina, but, well, as in what I really like physically in a girl, uh, Alex... though even if she wasn't so beautiful, I would still like her as much."

"Oh, I see, you like big-"

Harry dutifully clapped a hand over Dean's mouth. Already, Finbar was glaring at their dark skinned friend.

"Still, I think of her as a friend, just a really attractive one." He seemed keen on stressing that.

Meanwhile Harry had carefully removed his hand and was wiping it on the front of Dean's shirt. Dean continued pursuing the topic with great interest.

"Harry, so who do you think is hot? Oi, don't give me that look! It's not like as if your sexual preference disables you from recognizing pretty females." Dean pointed out with painstaking logic.

And Harry was perfectly aware of that himself, but he'd just rather not actively participate in this conversation and end up regretting what he'd said later on. Things like this always came back to bite him on the arse when he least needed them.

Hesitantly he began, "Well…Ginny is sort of pretty, but_ don't_ tell Ron I said that. And Cho, but, well." He shrugged helplessly.

"And guys? Is there anybody at all here you think is worthy of your attention? Besides me of course." He studied his nails casually.

"Oh, go bugger off Dean. You can't even hold a candle to the likes of me." Darragh said loudly, shouldering himself through a flock of undulating youngsters in order to join them. He was holding two bottles of coke and pushed one in to Harry's hands. "I've got you a drink."

Harry, who had been well on his way to dehydration in the oppressive warmth that filled the gym, took a long drink from it, "I love you." He said by way of thanks.

Of course, Darragh grabbed that and ran with it. "See, you're flattened when you've got the real stuff like me to compete with; Deanie-weenie. Harry's mine, not that there was ever any doubt about it of course, and better yet, he luuuuuhves me. I'm so happy I'm gonna cry." He began flapping his hand near the slanted eye-holes in his mask, like some girls when they cry in public.

"Oh hush, you've got a boyfriend, you slut. Leave some for the rest of us lads, will you?" Dean returned; grabbing Harry by the upper-arm and drawing him closer.

"There's plenty of Darragh to go around, Dean." He made an elaborate show of putting his arm around Harry's shoulders and drawing him to his side.

Finbar, who had long since deducted that Harry was somewhat unsure of how to react to the whole joke; took his own turn in putting a hand on his shoulder and pulling the boy from between the two of them. "While the two ladies here squabble over your ass, let's get something to eat." And he steered him out in front of him, into the crowd, leaving Dean and Darragh snickering in glee.

With a considerable amount of effort, they pushed themselves through the mass, and on the way they were joined by Ron, who seemed terribly happy to see them.

"Nutters the whole lot of them, completely nutters." he said, his red hair standing in all directions in aggravation.

Propped in the far corner of the gym was a table decked out with all kinds of snacks of the very unhealthy and sugary kind. Hungrily, Harry raked his eyes up and down it, already deciding on which he would get.

"Good evening gents, how can I be of service?" A hoarse contralto asked.

Harry, who had already been reaching towards a slice of pie, looked up and stared, his jaw somewhat open.

"...What?" Alex demanded; her eyes narrowing challengingly through the holes in her mask.

It was no mistaking it was her, of course, what with the white shock of dreadlocks that were tied back in a ponytail. But Harry thought he had never seen her in such _complementing_ clothing. Usually she stuck to rather baggy and concealing clothing, and if she happened to wear something that actually fit, it wasn't exactly new. He understood now why that was, but it was nevertheless a jolt to see her like this.

"I went shopping with Blaise, Jinx and Darragh, okay?" she said defensively when he still failed to respond.

It wasn't that outrageous or anything, seeing as it was basically a pair of mob-style pin-striped pants and a white button-up blouse. But the upper part of her black lace bra showed in the deep v of the blouse, and the blouse itself was form-fitting.

"It's nice, but so, uh, different from what we're used to seeing on you." Finbar cut in smoothly, using two fingers to shut Harry's jaw.

"The cleavage was Darragh's idea, so there," she said.

"I'm not surprised," Finbar said with a sigh, "Anyway, I'll have a pumpkin pasty, please."

Harry had got over the transformation, and asked, "What's a pumpkin pasty?"

Green eyes blinked at him, "Well, Harry, basically it's a pasty."

"Let me guess," Ron spoke up, "with pumpkin?"

Alex pretended to ring an imaginary bell, "DING DING! And what have you won? Why, a pumpkin pasty of course! Here, and take one for your pretty girlfriend, cause she'll be pretty hungry when she's done playing." She handed him two pasties wrapped in a napkin.

For a moment Ron stared at the treats in his hand, "Don't I-" he began, meanwhile trying to get his wallet out of his back-pocket.

"Nah," Alex flapped a hand at him.

"But I can't just-"

"Yes, you can, Ronald Weasley." Alex said loudly, pointedly eying him and putting a hand on her hip, "Even if I am the bastard's bitch."

Ron looked up, and on the part of his face that was not covered by his mask, his freckles stood out against suddenly pale skin. There was a very pregnant silence, in which Harry and Finbar stared in horrified interest as to what was going to happen.

A disarming smile curved over her lips, "Oh, Ron." She patted his hand. "I understand... sort of."

As if some thick, dark barrier had been breached, Ron, who had seldom exchanged words with Alex asked, "How can you stand him? He's so-" he trailed off helplessly, evidently not wanting to go ahead and start a tirade of ugly names.

Alex shrugged, "He's my friend." she said simply. Her eyes strayed to where the blond subject of their discussion was singing his heart out on stage.

"He doesn't deserve friends," Ron grumbled, looking dismally at his pasty.

With mysterious little smile, Alex said, "As it is, he is mine. Now let's just let this be. On an entirely different note, are we still going to that club?"

Ron and Harry echoed in unison, "Club?" Their antipathy to that notion evident in their tone.

With a wry sidelong glance at them both, Finbar said, "Well, everybody still seems to want to, so I guess I'll be tagging along." he gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"Who's everybody?" Ron asked.

"Uh, most of our year, including our circle of friends."

Harry narrowed his eyes at their tall friend, "Wolfman, if you're all going, then we have to be going too; because we can hardly go alone to your place."

"Yeah, and we don't want to go to a club." Ron added, as if that wasn't as clear as crystal yet.

They were having a big sleep-over at the Ganads' place, the house deserted as Mrs. Ganad was staying at her sister's, leaving the place to the youngsters. Earlier that day, when they had been getting ready for the Halloween event, Harry had spotted Malfoy's, Zabini's and Alex' stuff already there.

"Oh, don't be such party-poopers," Alex tutted at them, "For once, you guys should be able to cope."

"But I can't dance." Harry pointed out, as if that was going to keep him safe. But as always, he was overheard by the wrong people at the wrong time.

"Don't worry Harry, I will get you moving in no time."

It seemed that Darragh and Dean had decided on following them, now completed by the rest of their clique that was not on stage. Harry glowered while Darragh pinched his cheek affectionately.

"Hm, and after Darragh's had his wicked way with you, I reckon I'll steal a dance with you too." Ginny said, giving him a beautiful smile, "Between the two of us, Darragh and I will awaken the sexual grace of a dancer in you."

While his friends stifled chuckles of amusement at that, Harry profoundly wished he would be run over by a flock of wild bison.

All around them the crowd burst out in thundering applause as the concert ended. On stage, Draco and the rest of the band bowed deeply at the enthused response they got.

--

When they filed into the club, Harry was greeted by a blast of stuffy heat and loud, loud music that hit him almost like a physical force. He found himself at the edge of a sea of writhing bodies. He unconsciously tensed his shoulders, wondering what was wrong with Ron's and his _perfectly_ good idea of spending the rest of the night playing Super Smash Bros at the Ganads'. He stuck close to Ron, not wanting to get swept away with the crowd. From the set of Ron's shoulders he could tell his friend was as thrilled to be there as he was.

If Harry had had any more experience with the dating and dancing kind of going out, he'd have been able to tell they were not at a club, but a dancing café that was simply jammed because of celebrations at Halloween. The music was also the kind that you could actually dance to, not weird ever-repetitive beats that seemed to have no point. And you could, albeit loudly, talk to each other. The crowd also seemed to consist of the more open-minded sort of people.

Amazingly, they found two tables still unoccupied and they managed to 'borrow' enough chairs -when no one was looking- for the lot of them. After that their group began to scatter and Harry found himself hogging the bar with Ron, nipping at their cokes. They were kind of entertaining themselves by watching the crowd, pointing the most hilarious ones out to one other.

'Those are not leather pants mate. No way, I mean, how would he get into a pair of those. Let alone get _out_ of them again?' Ron wondered, squinting at the subject of their scrutiny with an air of 'I don't want to look, but I can't seem to stop'.

Scrunching up his nose and making a vague gesture, Harry said, "Then what is all that shiny stuff on his arse?"

"Harry, friend, mate, buddy," Ron said, wrapping an arm around him conspiratorially, "You figure you even _want _to know?"

His complexion went rather pale, "I guess not." And he made elaborate gagging noises as he pretended to stick a pair of fingers down his throat.

They both shared a laugh at that and went looking for the next victim.

"Look at that one; you'd think he was humping the air or something!" Ron exclaimed with incredulous disbelief.

Tilting his head slightly, Harry said, "Uh, Ron. Isn't that Seamus?"

"Nah, that's, ah. Okay, well, I _don't know_ him. Just avoid eye contact, Harry, or he might come over here."

"Sounds like plan." Harry nodded quickly, and then demonstratively shielded the right side of his face with a hand, blocking Seamus from his peripheral vision.

It was however, pretty hard to stay completely cool under the circumstances. Despite the lack of alcohol, Harry felt himself ridiculously giddy and light-headed. Of course, as long as he was safe by the bar the happy feeling wasn't going to transform to mortification any time soon. The closer he got the dance-floor, the more flustered he got.

It was after a while that Ginny joined them, her pretty face flushed from dancing and her long mane of red hair tangled wildly. Fists planted imperiously on her hips, she announced "Ron, you are being a complete prick," while prodding her brother in the chest.

Ron was completely baffled, "Hey, what's that for? I swear I didn't do anything. Ask Harry!" He crossed his arms protectively.

Nodding, Harry obediently confirmed that fact that they were not, in fact, getting into any trouble of any kind…at the moment.

"Exactly my point!" Ginny shouted over the music, "There have been almost four slow dances, yes, _four_," she emphasized the number as if it was of significance, "and you haven't even _talked _to Hermione ever since we got here. Which was more than an hour and half ago!"

"Well, she can come over here if she wants to talk. You can't hear each other anyway out there." He suggested, using that perfectly logical, yet useless manner men seem to possess. He nodded his chin to the mass of humans rubbing up against each other and throwing their hands in the air.

Ginny slapped her forehead, "Oh, please, you can't be that thick. She wants to dance, you oaf! With you!" she added quickly, before Ron pointed out that she didn't need him to do so. "Up until now Darragh has danced with her when they played slows. A bit sad that he needs to keep your girlfriend from feeling deserted."

And this was exactly what was happening, a nice cheesy song had begun playing, the kind that made Harry feel embarrassed for no particular reason. Making her way forlornly through the crowd was Hermione; Darragh intercepted her and offered her his hand while making a sweeping bow. With a little shake of her head she took a step away. Then a little kiss on his cheek and she left him standing there, trying to get off the dance floor.

Unerringly Darragh turned to where they were witnessing it unfold and gestured angrily and rather elaborately- that Ron should get his freckled arse moving or he would receive some serious whopping.

With a little groan, Ron pushed himself away from the bar and slid into the crowd in pursuit of his girlfriend, Ginny following hotly on his heels.

And thus, Harry found himself alone with his empty glass at the bar. Watching the ridiculous people wasn't so funny anymore either. It seemed, though, that Dean had finally snared Parvati. The dark skinned youth grinned smugly at Harry when they came shuffling into view for a moment. Harry shook his head amusedly when Dean carried on with peering over her shoulder at her- in its rather tight confines- ass. This made Harry seriously wonder how she could still move, let alone breathe.

A short while later he spotted Hermione and Ron, holding each other closely. Ron's adversity for dancing seemed to have evaporated as Hermione continued to snog him within an inch of his life. She was apparantly happy that he'd finally decided to dance with her.

Harry morosely got himself another coke.

"I said no!" Someone barked over the music, making Harry's head turn. "Go find some desperate bloke to fawn over, and wave your tastelessly displayed wares under his nose. Maybe he'll go for 'whore'."

Draco pointed at some terribly wasted guy slumping against the wall who had an air of 'I will barf between now and ten seconds'. With a needlessly hard shove he sent the girl stumbling into his arms. Dusting his hands, he sauntered over to where Harry was standing without a backward glance.

"Cruel. But effective." Harry conceded, wincing at how the guy managed to feel the girl up before she untangled herself from his grabby paws.

"Deserved." Draco corrected, leaning next to him.

Harry didn't know what to say. There had not been a word exchanged between them since the cock-up in school. Well, if you counted, "if that is the last cup of coffee you're holding, I will hurt you", then they had, technically spoken once, because Harry had grandiloquently replied "you suck". This, for some reason, had made Blaise snort up tea through his nose, making Harry feel guilty for the rest of the day because he had accidentally almost choked him.

He settled his ineptness for pleasant small talk by offering Draco his bottle of coke.

Accepting the drink, he took a deep swig, tilting his head back. Harry found he could not keep his eyes off the rhythmic movement of his Adam's apple and had to force himself to look at the floor.

"Not dancing?" Draco asked, pitching his voice over the wild music.

"I can't dance." Harry replied automatically.

Draco gave him a smirk, "I'm not surprised."

Harry semi-scowled unsure whether it was meant as a sting or as a good-natured gibe. Again, there was a short silence.

"Where's your girlfriend?" He asked, and was chagrined to hear resentment lacing his words. At Draco's blank look, he specified, "Alex."

"Good question." He replied, straightening himself to look over the crowd. "There," he said, pointing to the other end of the bar. "I think she's out-drinking Ganad."

And indeed, as if on cue, the both of them were seen throwing back their heads in an attempt to down a glass in one go. Harry automatically found himself trailing in the blond's footsteps to where the two of them were holding their contest.

When they arrived Finbar was pulling a face as if he were going to cough up his spleen any moment. He doubled over, making disgusted noises. Alex pounded him on the back with a slightly amused smirk on her full lips.

"Your own fault." Harry pointed out when Finbar came up for air again with a wheezing gulp. He found he was mildly disappointed in his two friends, drinking so outrageously.

"Want a taste?" Finbar asked, holding his glass out to him and swirling it. The liquid inside was faintly yellow.

Harry arched an eyebrow, "I'm seventeen, Finbar, not allowed to drink." He pointed out, figuring the big guy was so pissed it was simply erased from his mind.

"Try it, Harry." Finbar urged, "It's barely a sip's worth."

Slightly suspicious, Harry nipped from the rim. "_ACK!_ What is that?! Oh _shit!_"

He brushed at his tongue with the palm of his hand to get the terrible sour taste away. He could feel his whole mouth cramping up with the bitterness. Next to him Draco began roaring with laughter.

Alex handed him a glass of water, her green eyes twinkling. "Lemon juice."

Harry elbowed the blond next to him, who seemed to have found the scene terribly funny. Draco laughed only more uproariously, grabbing at the bar for support.

Gagging against the lingering taste, Harry elbowed him again. In return Draco poked him, at which they erupted in a bout of poking-shoving-elbowing to which the rules of the game were rather unclear.

"Aw, look at the two of them." Finbar stage-whispered to Alex. "Since when did they get all friendly?"

With one last shove, Draco protested, "We're not friends. I hate him."

"Yeah," Harry chimed in when he re-gained his balance, "Me too."

"I would hate myself too, if I were you. Though, I can give you the number of a good therapist." Draco offered, pretending to whip out his mobile phone and look it up.

"If it's the same one as you went to, thanks, but no thanks. I'd rather keep the damage at a minimum. I'm not beyond help at least." Harry returned smoothly.

"Ouch, Potter. You _wounded me_. Your eloquent replies are just unbelievable. I think I'm going over there to cry a bit. Toodles." And with that he sashayed into the crowd, disappearing from view.

Alex was shaking her head while Finbar said after a deep sigh, "I just don't understand the two of you, one moment you actually get along, the next you're back to sniping at each other." Finbar said with a frown.

"It's not my fault he's a complete asshole." Harry pointed out, "No offense Alex," he added, remembering belatedly that his girlfriend was standing right in front of him.

"None taken." She said soberly.

"Well, I'm going to look for Ron. Catch you two later." He was starting to walk away before he gave in to an impulse that had been bugging him all evening. He pivoted on his heel, and walked backwards as he called out, "By the way, Alex, nice cleavage." He gave a raunchy thumbs-up.

He was rewarded to see her grabbing for the revealing top, her face flushing. He was just in time to hear Finbar say "See, I told you-" and that was how far he got before being throttled.

He figured, in a way, it was unfair of him to tease Alex when she was finally wearing something in which she didn't completely drown. But he just couldn't help himself. Grinning to himself he began wading through the jostling crowd of people. Just when he spotted his red-haired friend and made to crawl his way over to him, he was halted by an arm around his shoulders.

"Harry, my friend, I've come to collect my dance." Darragh told him with a grin that was nearly a mile wide.

Harry blanched, "But I really, really can't dance, and-" he spluttered hopelessly and tried to duck out of the other's grip.

"Please."

The tone in which Darragh said the last strangely made Harry stop dead in his tracks. When he looked into the golden eyes of his friend, he saw something. But then it was gone when Darragh threw in a pout to finish his lost-puppy look and Harry found himself groaning in defeat. Throwing his hands up in surrender, he conceded. "Okay, fine. But, rule one: not too much weird stuff, rule two: nothing too advanced, rule number three: no groping!"

Darragh was already moving closer to him, "Ah, you just had to go and ruin all the fun, didn't you?" He complained good-naturedly. And at that he grabbed Harry's hips and firmly pulled him against him.

Profoundly wishing the ground would open up and devour him, Harry tried to figure out what he had to do. Carefully, he put his hands on Darragh's shoulders.

"You have to move." Darragh said in Harry's ear.

"I thought I said nothing too advanced?" Harry said with a small voice, surprised that his body reacted rather unethically to the closeness. Wisely, he chose to ignore that. Ignore it, and it might go away. It actually worked sometimes. Granted, only approximately three out of ten times, but he was taking his chances this time.

His friend laughed, and Harry could feel the rumble in Darragh's chest. Clenching his eyes shut, he tried to concentrate on the beat of the music. It took him a long time to coordinate feet-movement without trampling his friend's toes.

"Relax, man." Darragh told him after a while, "Okay, let's try this, keep your eyes closed and follow my lead." He flipped Harry around somewhat abruptly, and he had hardly any time to protest before he felt Darragh against his back.

"Hey!" He attempted to squirm around to face him again.

"Follow my lead, Harry." Darragh breathed against his ear, keeping a steadying grip on Harry's hips.

Needless to say, Harry was mortified. He didn't even dare open his eyes now that he had closed them. For a while he was jerked around with what seemed to him no sense of purpose at all. It was only after a while he realized he was still resisting, body tensed. Moulded against his back, he could feel Darragh moving with that easy way of his to the music. Spying on what the rest of his clique had been doing had revealed that Darragh could dance. Not just move fairly well to a beat, but actually dance with style.

He took a deep breath and leant back, letting Darragh do the work. He forced himself to become aware of the other's body and feel what he was doing.

"Look at Draco and Alex." Darragh said from behind him.

Without any further thought, he opened his eyes. Barely a few meters away from them the two of them were jiving and occasionally mixing other moves up in it. After a while he could tell that Alex was doing most of the leading, apparantly with the same sort of natural talent that Darragh seemed to possess. Draco more than once stumbled and seemed more than a little flustered about what he was supposed to do when.

Suddenly Darragh appeared grinning in front of him. It was then that Harry realized he was dancing alone. As soon as it came through to him, he lost the rhythm. Darragh put a hand on his hip again, with his other tapping his index and middle finger under his own eyes, "Look at my eyes, mate."

He picked up the pace fairly well again after that, especially with Darragh distracting him as he picked up a lively conversation that was about everything to nothing, liberally spiked with outrageous comments.

There were moments when Harry saw a shadow of something pass over those bright eyes. But it was fairly hard to tell, because his smile was still one with a force of a thousand watts and his language as x-rated as it ever had been. One moment he had actually opened his mouth to ask what was bothering him, but almost as if he could smell it, Darragh had loudly begun singing along with the music, overdoing it every bit. It had made him laugh so hard that the notion escaped him.

After a while Harry sort of rationalized that he was humiliated enough by now to go all out. He had already committed social suicide once by his choice of friends, and now he was dancing quite enthusiastically with another guy, so what the hell. He raised his arms in the air, getting an answering whoop from Darragh.

He still couldn't dance for the life of him, but at least he was doing something, and he was proud of it.

Suddenly his eyes widened to the size of saucers and he faltered considerably, "Darragh. Your hands are on my arse, I thought we had a rule about that." He all but squeaked.

"We do?" Darragh retorted genially, pretending to mull it over.

"Yeah, the 'no groping one?'" He pointed out.

"Oh, number three. I seem to recall it now." He tucked his hands behind his back, "I have no idea what came over me. My sincerest apologies." He bowed his head submissively, but was biting the insides of his cheeks to keep his grin from showing  
too much.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Harry said sarcastically. He had ceased moving entirely, gulping for air. He wasn't used to dancing, let alone being groped while doing so. The song was ending anyway.

"Giving up old boy?" Darragh tsk-ed at him "The youth of today aren't what they used to be."

Harry flapped a hand at him, leaning on his thighs to rest his complaining back. Appearing out of nowhere was Alex, affectionately ruffling his mop of black hair. "Nice moves, my friend. Mind those arms though, lad, you nearly brained someone just now." She added with a little smile.

As come-back he only managed to stick out his tongue.

"Anyways, I thought you would never let him go," said Alex, before Darragh swept her away, lifting her up effortlessly.

Harry limped in the general direction of the bar. Half-way though, he found himself with a rather drunk girl around his neck and no idea how to dispose of her. Rescue came in the form of Hermione Granger, who wrapped an arm around his waist and scowled convincingly at the scantily dressed girl.

"Thanks, Hermione."

"No problem. So, how are you holding up?" She queried, the swirling pattern of her make-up shimmering in the lights.

"Better than expected." Harry admitted grudgingly. For all his griping he'd been amusing himself fairly well.

"We saw you dancing with Darragh," she said loftily, pursing her lips and lifting an eyebrow inquiringly. It was just then that they arrived where the rest of their friends huddled together at the table, nursing their drinks.

Rather embarrassing cheering, applauding and a thumbs-up from Seamus were what he got as a greeting. He should have known that he just couldn't have danced and gotten away with it. Thank God he was not the only guy Darragh had danced with tonight.

"Yeah, yeah." Harry muttered, already flushing. Sliding into a seat between Seamus and Ron, he heaved a deep sigh and settled back.

Hermione perched on Ron's lap, who seemed to delight each and every time in the smooth fabric of her dress. A little kiss was placed on her bare shoulder almost reverently.

Meanwhile they were playing Mas Que Nada.

He easily found where Alex and Darragh were, because a small circle had been cleared around them. He could tell they were doing salsa or something like that, but theirs seemed to involve a lot of close contact, sudden little moves and grinding against each other as if they meant it. Darragh had an arm around her middle, pulling her flush against him; she had a hand on his butt, their foreheads leaning together. Despite that, they moved with surprising ease, and they could be seen mouthing along with lyrics.

He was quite surprised to see Draco dancing with Blaise's sister, Jinx. Their dancing was a lot more innocent and less intense. Nevertheless, Jinx was blushing.

In their little circle of friends, Seamus looked as hyper as ever, squirming on his chair to the music. Ron and Hermione were getting quite cozy, apparantly losing some restraint with the intense atmosphere; Ginny was slumped against Finbar, who was having a conversation with Neville. Harry didn't think Neville had left his chair even once this evening besides a trip to the loo.

"Hey, where's Dean?" Harry suddenly wondered.

"He got lucky." Seamus said jealously, with a heavenward look of his eyes, "The bastard."

"Oh?"

"Parvati." He answered the unspoken question, shaking his head regretfully. "I tried Lavender, but I think I came on a little too strong." He said with a grimace.

"_No, really?_" Ginny muttered sarcastically from where she had appeared to be dozing on Finbar's shoulder.

At that everybody laughed, and Harry knew he had missed out on something while he had been dancing with Darragh, especially as it managed to make Seamus turn as red as a tomato.

At that moment, Blaise came staggering into view, nearly falling into Neville's lap. He appeared rather flustered, "You might want to work your charm on Padma for me, Finnigan. Shit." He exclaimed and sat promptly down on the ground. "If she comes this way: I. Am. Not. Here." He half-ducked his head under the table.

"You could spare her one dance, couldn't you?" Ginny amended.

"Yeah, that was what I tried an hour ago. Give her one finger and she takes your whole arm. Girls, like sharks, really." He added, massaging his neck.

Ginny toed his side playfully, and Blaise gave her a bland little smirk.

"Lavender is more my type, really." Seamus tried for a dignified, though belated, reply, "She'll come around to my way of thinking, and see that we were meant for one other."

"Of course, Seamus, and then hell freezes over." Ron said airily.

"And pigs fly." Neville added.

"And animals start talking again," Finbar said.

"And Snape and McGonagall confess their undying love for one another." Blaise finished.

"Okay: ew." Ginny giggled, giving the half-Italian a look of surprise.

"Yeah, I know. I need to go home and wash my brain with soap," said the latter morosely.

"You know, Zabini, you're real talkative tonight. What grants us this great honor?" Ron asked, with a somewhat scathing edge to his tone. A friend of his enemy could not be a friend of him.

"Me being abandoned by my friends to fend off a rabid female all by myself does. Now I've had to lower myself to the likes of you. Woe is me." He said that all in a very dry, dead-pan tone. He even made himself more comfortable by crossing his legs and leaning against Finbar's leg. "Not even my cousins or sisters come to defend my honor, _noooo._"

"Sisters?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, Jinx and Datum. The last you don't know -be glad- because she's already graduated." He explained. The part about Datum he added with a 'be very afraid' kind of tone.

"Makes sense." Neville said solemnly.

"Anyway, how can you not be happy with a lustful female lavishing her mating rites upon you?" Seamus seemed unable to accept the current situation and was adamant to get some explanations.

"Just not, does there have to be a reason?" Blaise demanded somewhat perplexedly, pulling his fingers through his mussed up hair, inadvertently curling it rather wildly.

Seamus made a show of thinking real hard, rubbing his chin and saying 'uuh' very loudly, "Uh, yeah, sex." He said with a 'duh' kind of face.

He was promptly slapped around the head by one their two female companions, "Seamus!" Hermione rebuked him. Ginny was too far away to actually hit him, but her glare was probably frightening enough to get the message across.

"Okay, sorry. But c'mon, honestly. She's freaking hot and nice, and she obviously wants you. And you're a guy." He said, with a disbelieving laugh at the end.

"Okay, let me get this straight, me having a dick equals to having sex with all things female and willing? Since when did you figure that out?" Blaise returned smoothly, cocking his head at the Irish youth inquiringly.

Seamus faltered and then blurted, "Sex!"

Pounding his head against his knee, Blaise mumbled, "It's not that special."

"You've had sex!" Seamus howled inelegantly over the general noise, pointing at the young man on the floor. Everybody in their general vicinity stared at them. Seamus went on without even blushing, "Oh my god, what was it like?" he asked, as if inquiring about the newest attraction in a theme park.

"Kill me." Blaise suggested.

"You're such a nerd, Seamus." Neville, of all people, said to him.

"Drinks." Harry announced, jumping to his feet, "I'm going to get some. Want anything?"

"Yeah, water for me, please. So I can drown myself." Blaise requested blandly.

"Right, water," Harry repeated, pointing at Blaise. "Sedatives," he pointed at Seamus. "Coke," he nodded to himself. "Be right back," and then he hightailed it out of there.

Taking his time to get to the bar, Harry wondered if Seamus always got that scary when they went out. He resolved only to return when the Irish idiot was disposed of. Leaning on the bar heavily, he calmly finished a bottle first, quenching his thirst, before ordering a second one and a glass of water. Wearily he turned around, thinking-

Bodily he slammed into another person, slopping water and coke between the two of them.

"_Bloody hell_!" He gasped; the iced water very cold as it dripped down his torso. He followed that up by a string of very inventive profanities.

He angrily sat the now useless glass on the bar with a loud thud. "Can't you see where you're going?" he hissed, and snapped his head around at the offending person.

"It's not my fault!" Draco Malfoy snarled back, peeling his own soaked shirt from his chest. With a jerk of his head he indicated a comely young woman by his side, "Datum here knocked me into you."

Datum gave him a dazzling smile, one that made Harry just positive she could be up to no good, "_You're_ Harry Potter, aren't you?" she asked, wagging her perfectly arched eyebrows at him.

"Datum," Draco ground out from between clenched teeth, glaring at her threateningly.

"Oh, look, now I've gone ahead and made you spill coke all over the both of you." She tutted, pinching Harry's shirt between her thumb and index finger. "How silly of me!"

Draco seemed to be spontaneously combusting on the spot, grinding his teeth together. Harry just knew he was being left out of the loop and didn't like it one bit.

Datum seemed perfectly capable of keeping up the façade, "You had better go and wash out most of it in the lavatory. You know how coke gets all _sticky_ after a while." She fluttered her eyelashes at them. "Well, now, on you go." She shooed Harry away towards the lavatory, herding Draco after him. To the latter she whispered, "You can thank me later."

"After I kill you," Draco growled acidly.

They all but stormed into the bathroom together, finding it completely deserted to Harry's immense relief. Draco kept giving the dark haired youth sharp glances, as if he still somehow blamed him for the whole cock-up. Harry decided to ignore him and strode over to the sink.

"Aw gross." He sighed, as he once again peeled the fabric from his torso and tried to get it under the spill of water from the tap. Goosebumps erupted all over his skin as the shirt enthusiastically soaked up the cold water.

Sudden movement caught his peripheral vision, and he peered at what the blond was doing. It was probably smarter to do so, but at that moment Harry cursed him with every ounce of his body. Malfoy was taking of his shirt. The black mask lay next to the tap.

"Uh, Potter?" Draco suddenly queried.

"Yeah?" Harry managed, his voice somewhat squeaky as his throat clenched violently.

"Some help here?"

With a mental plea for control and calm, he turned to his compatriot. It would have been funny; really, if the view hadn't basically blasted all logic out of his brain. He very much considered refusing. The wet fabric had twisted and clamped itself around Draco's head and arms, so he was left standing there, arms above his head, wriggling in frustration.

And baring the whole length of his pale skinned torso from the belt up.

Harry honestly wondered if there actually really was some sort of higher entity up there. Because, honestly, what were the odds? If so it either really hated Harry, or loved him a lot. He still hadn't figured that part out.

"Potter, I need air." Draco reminded him, his squirming getting more urgent.

"Yeah," he mumbled nonsensically, but managed to have enough brain activity left to do just that.

With some tugging and some growls from Malfoy, Harry managed to free him from certain slow death. His fine blonde hair stuck up fluffily, and Draco tried to smooth it back down with a look of distaste. Painted on sparkling, black scales surrounded blue-gray eyes in a careful imitation of a snake's.

Harry stood there, staring, clutching the shirt in his white-knuckled fists. Meanwhile Draco was holding out his hand, with an expectant look on his face.

"My shirt?"

"Ah," Harry said, trying to remember how to speak. And thrust the shirt at Draco, turning away with a pounding heart.

His own shirt was now so wet with both iced water, coke and water from the tap that it had soaked into the front of his jeans. It looked as if he had pissed himself. If the situation could have gotten any worse, Harry would have shot himself.

When Draco snorted and raised an eyebrow at the suspicious blotch, Harry began looking for a gun.

There was nothing left to it other than taking it off. Carefully he pulled off his mask, looking away from his reflection and putting it next to Draco's.

Taking great care not to smudge the paint on his face, he peeled the shirt off, raising his arms slowly. A gasp hissed between his lips as the cold air wafted over his moist skin. He dumped the wet wad of shirt on the floor with a shudder. He glanced down his body. Coke had accumulated in his belly-button in a little puddle. It seeped out, making a straight line for the edge of his pants. Harry wiped at it with his thumb, lacking a towel or tissue of any sort.

Something brushed against where his spine curved inward on his lower back. It felt like electricity running up his spine, and in response Harry went rigid, his heart pounding in his mouth, warm and tangy.

"It's real."

Harry's eyes were wide-open and _still_ he was dreaming. Draco's breath tickled against the back of his neck.

"D-don't pick at it. It leaves imperfections."

See, he could still talk.

"Oh."

Another breath; stirring the hair where it curled in the nape of his neck.

Harry's downcast eyes trained on the dark pattern of his tattoo. It was basically a half-circle, emerging from the front of his pants, between where dark hair trailed down from his navel and where his hipbone curved sharply. Then it curved gracefully upward, rounding towards the side, spanning the side of his waist, and coming down from its zenith to disappear into his waistband again next to his spine. What you could not see, of course, was that it trailed to a stop over the curve of his buttock. Having that part inked had not been pleasant. The pattern was a swirling, arching tribal.

Carefully, Draco traced the air above the tattoo with the pad of his thumb. And watched in wonder as Harry's spine tautened, each vertebrae drawing together tightly, and then arched back again, muscle spreading out between them.

Draco closed his eyes with a pained expression. He couldn't feel his heart anymore. It seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Harry on the other hand felt his whole body pulse with shock, fear, and something else. Something nameless, but on the other hand so profoundly simple. He was surprised he couldn't see his skin quiver like a drum to the beat of his throbbing blood. His fingers were shaking slightly.

Holding his breath Harry turned around; opening his mouth to vocalize whatever came out first, however stupid. But Draco had been standing almost flush against him, and they found their noses not even an inch from each other.

Both pairs of eyes widened.

Draco had been holding his breath so long his lungs were searing, and he had a stitch in his side. He let it out in a gust.

Harry felt it on his mouth.

He closed his eyes.

With Draco breathing again, his lungs drawing breath frantically to make up for the lack of it, their chests barely brushed up against each other.

Harry's skin was burning.

Draco's was very cold.

A soft brush of flesh on flesh, mouths slightly opened.

Thunder clapped in Harry's head.

Draco froze as if he had his heart ripped out.

Motionless, lips still parted slightly, scantly touching, they breathed each other's air.

"Hey Harry, what is-"

They sprang apart as if burned, Harry crashing violently against the sink while Draco nearly ran to the other side of the lavatory.

In the doorway stood Finbar, a look of utter shock on his face. Harry could just hear the parts and suspicions falling into place with a series of loud clunks in his friend's head.

"Err, I'll go-" Finbar pointed to where he came from, unable to come up with a decent sentence at the moment.

"It's not what it looks like." Draco snarled, venom dripping from every word. And with his shirt balled up in his fist, the mask in the other, he bodily slammed Finbar out of the way as he pushed through the doorway.

Harry and Finbar stared at each other over the gap of silence Draco had left behind him.

"It's not." Harry said softly, looking at the floor, where his shirt still lay in a wet heap.

"Okay." Finbar said gently, mind working furiously. And he silently retreated out of the lavatory, pushing himself half-dazed through a close knit group of girls and boys. The glare of the red and white strobe lights burned itself onto his retina, leaving multicolored spots to dance before his eyes. His light blue eyes flew from left to right and he caught a glimpse of light, silvery blonde hair and black. He turned his head automatically, watching how Draco rather aggressively made for the bar. Not quite sure what he was going to do, or what to say, he turned, keeping an eye on the familiar blonde hair. Walking automatically, and with such a fixed purpose in mind meant that when he collided with something tall and warm, he did so with a rather harsh impact. Stumbling and grabbing for support he mumbled a quick apology when two warm hands settled on his biceps.

"Whoa, Finbar, where's it burning?"

Coming out of his stupor, he focused his gaze on his cousin's light brown ones.

"Blaise."

An eyebrow arched, "Yes?"

Already his mouth was opening and drawing breath, before he just went perfectly still. Boring his gaze into Blaise's, as if trying to x-ray him on the spot, he asked "Would you ever lie to me?" His tone was completely non-judgmental.

Fathomless eyes blinked. Still, his face remained very serious when he answered, "Do you really want me to answer that?"

He knew. Finbar shook his head. It all made sense. Draco was deceiving neither Alex nor Blaise. It was a charade that the_ three_ of them had been flawlessly holding up from the moment Draco and Alex became friends with his cousin. Three years. Three years that neither Alex nor Draco _had been with_ another person romantically, so that his secret was kept safe.

Finbar didn't get it. Why? Why go to such lengths to keep it hidden?

The hands that were still on his arms gave a soft squeeze, "I wouldn't lie if it _meant harm_ to anyone. Do you see what I am trying to say?"

Again, he looked at the face of his kin. Physically, they did not look that much alike, but enough to see they where cousins. On the inside, Finbar realized, they were very alike.

A smile came to his face, "I do."

Blaise patted his cheek with what you might call brotherly affection before he let go completely. "So, fancy a drink?"

With a glance at the bar he saw that Draco had long come and gone. If it meant that great a deal to him to keep it under wraps, then perhaps, it was not his business to go ahead and uncover it.

Of course, that did not mean he could not, let's say, speed up the progress.

* * *

First of all, thank you bewildered-muse, for another job well done. Another typo-free chapter thanks to her!

Title credits: Chris Isaak - Wicked Game

Another thing: Forget all I've ever said/written in previous chapters (the pm I've given someone was wrong, too).This is how it is supposed to be:

Harry & co: SEVENTH year

Darragh, Ginny, Jinx, Kasper, ... : sixth year

Fred 'n George, Angelina, etc... : eight year (specialization year)

When I ever find myself with waaaaaaay too much time, I will fix it. Not right now, no time and I'm just happy to get a chapter out at a relatively short time span.

Alright you guys, you know the drill REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!! They keep me happy, if there aren't enough I get disappointed with myself and subsequently loose interest.  



	12. Behind Blue Eyes

Disclaimer: I do _not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**  
Chapter Twelve – Behind Blue Eyes**

_"Oooh! Just look at that! Draco, you little rebel." - Lavender Brown_

With a brutal shove, Harry got rid of the young girl standing in his way. She nearly went to her knees by the force he had used. If he'd been in a reasonably state of mind he would have been _appalled_ at his own actions. But something, something dark and ugly and that hurt unjustifiably too much had welled up around his heart. Like when a sewer runs over and floods the streets when it rains too much. Things you'd rather not think about or look at were all over the place where it was supposed to be clean.

That was why he was grateful when he finally made it outside in the cold, cold air. Great heaves filled his lungs with it, causing a cramping sensation. That hurt too, but he didn't mind because this kind he could understand. He staggered as far as he could before leaning against a lamp post when the lightheaded sensation unbalanced him.

Alone and confused, Harry rested his forehead against the cold metal, a halo of yellow light cast around him on the pavement, as if holding the darkness at bay.

He wanted to go home.

Shouldering himself around so his back was against the post, he slowly slid down to the ground. It was wet and cold and rather unpleasant, but Harry found he could hardly care. Nightly noises filled the air with a gentle murmur and he focused on those familiar sounds. Dogs barking, the never-ending roar of distant cars, the whispering of the wind and a number of other unidentifiable background noises. If he closed his eyes, he merged perfectly with them. A nearby river churned restlessly and someone was-

"Here you are."

Apparently; someone seemed to have bothered to come looking for him. Harry didn't need to look up to know it was Darragh. Trough the holes in is mask he could see the dark gray of his mob-style trousers. More than anything; he wanted to be left alone. He didn't want to speak to anyone, or be touched by anyone. For a moment, he would like to indulge himself in self-pity.

"So it seems."

Crouching down,Darragh brought his face to the same height. Harry stared with dull eyes back into those vibrant gold ones. He wore no mask, but his left eye was surrounded by a painted-on, solid black star. In addition to the trousers; which were held up by gold glittering suspenders, he wore a pristine white t-shirt, with little white wings protruding on the back. With the halo of the streetlight, he looked like an otherworldly creature.

"What happened to you finger?"

His finger? He blinked at the digit with a bemused air and startled when he saw that the skin on his left index finger was torn, the nail purple, bleeding. Vaguely he remembered the sharp pain when he had accidentally slammed the bathroom door shut on it. Woops.

How is it that when you see the wound, it always start hurting more badly? A dull, painful throbbing he hadn't even felt before began, along with a unreal sort of burning sensation. It was as if he had a tiny second heart in the tip of his finger and he sort of expected to see his finger pulsing to the rhythm of the beating. Which it didn't of course.

He realized he had been staring at it stupidly when Darragh wrapped his hand round his, and brought it closer to his face for inspection of the damage. He arched an unsure eyebrow, and patted with his free hand in the pockets of his loose trousers.

"You got a clean napkin?" He asked.

Harry shook his head in a negative.

In response, Darragh scrunched up his nose, looked fleetingly left and right, and then slipped the finger into his mouth.

He did it carefully, yet it still hurt. Extremely aware that Darragh was _sucking_ on him Harry went rigid, as if pertrfied. Granted it was only a finger, but the teenage mind had no trouble at all to link one motive to the other. There is always a moment when you become aware of _other_ possibilities. Generally; this awareness wells up fairly quickly between males and females; and with it comes to urge to impress one other.

Darragh looked up once, eyes locking with Harry, and _blushed._ Bold, loud Darragh with his arsenal of x-rated comments and his many grins. And there he was, blushing. Almost hastily, he let go of Harry's hand, and stared down at the ground.

"Mom always did that," he mumbled softly, "when we were kids."

"Maybe I've got some horrible disease in my blood." Harry said softly.

"Do you?" Darragh asked calmly, as if they weren't discussing the possibilities of Harry just having passed on some fatal virus.

"No."

"Lucky me." Darragh said, quirking his eyebrow.

There was a small silence, during which they stared at each other ever the gap. Darragh was smiling slightly, not really a smirk, but not a pure smile either; automatically, he found himself returning a shadow of it. At that particular moment, there were no more words needed between the two of them. They had connected in some unexplainable way, that allowed them to gaze at each other with no trace of discomfort at all.

Afterwards, Harry would always wonder if they would have stayed like that for the rest of the night if the rest of their friends had not emerged from the club. The double doors swung open, and the rest of their gang came spilling out with a gurgle of indiscernible music.

The heels of Hermione's shoes made an important sounding clack-clack as she came walking towards them. "There you two are, we've been looking all over the place!"

"Yeah, what are you two doing here anyway, outside in the cold?" Ginny wondered, rubbing her slender arms against cold of the wind as it nipped at her.

"Darragh was sucking me." Harry said matter of factly; now truly smirking.

"Bitch." Was Darragh's succinct opinion of him; but he had his most wicked grin plastered to his face.

"Sure, whatever, we going home?" Seamus pleaded, his face pale in the dark of the night.

Harry and Darragh grinned at each other. Sometimes, people find it more difficult to accept an unlikely truth opposed to a likely lie.

--

It was a long trek back to the Ganads'. Though not an dull one. Hogsmeade seemed to be cut out from some magazine add, pumpkins with grinning faces glowed upon most porches, and the whole town seemed alive. There were still children running around, whooping and screaming, accompanied by parents or elder siblings, who tagged behind. Somewhere fireworks were set off, and the bright trailers of sparkling light lined the horizon above the treetops of the forest.

Still brooding, but unable to stop himself, Harry trudged ahead in the strange hush that lapsed over the streets between every odd blast of fireworks. Before and behind him the others talked in subdued voices, their spirits elevated by the strange surge of adrenaline their evening out had provided them. Every now and then there were bouts of giggles and everything that was shared seemed more intimate than it was in daylight. Harry walked alone and was left to drill holes in Draco's back with the sheer intensity of his glare. However, he did notice how the bursts of multicolored light reflected on his hair and bathed the angles and planes of his body in sharp contrast. Their group being an odd thirteen, Harry found himself at the moment the third wheel of the cart, or was that the thirteenth, because the others paired up almost unconsciously. Ron and Hermione, of course, had paired up. His arm around her waist, her head resting on his shoulder. The hand that was resting on the curve of her hip could be seen playing gently over the smooth material of the dress, massaging the skin underneath. Seeing as Ron had finally gotten over the fact that he was allowed to be doing more than just holding hands, Harry felt he could hardly interrupt.

Strangely, it was Lavender who suddenly hung back until she fell in pace with him.

"You okay?" she asked. Lavender's voice was always a little breathy and, yes, girlish, but only annoying when Harry heard her talking for longer than half an hour.

He glanced sideways at her, unsure of what to say. Lavender was a friend of Ginny and Hermione, but she and Harry were not particularly close. She was just always there. They said their hi's and goodbye's to each other each day. There was a sharp bang, followed by a tide of hot pink. In the darkness Lavender's dark blonde hair turned semi-red. She was pretty, but more like 'the-girl-next-door' kind of pretty.

Eventually he settled for, "Sure, why wouldn't I be?"

"You're awfully quiet," she answered, huddling in her inadequate flimsy jacket against the cold.

"I'm just getting tired, I guess," he replied evasively.

Setting her chin to keep her teeth from clattering, she exclaimed, "Oh! But you can't go to sleep before we have gotten to see your photo album."

Harry made a groan deep in his throat and clenched his eyes shut.

"Tut-tut!" Lavender laughed, but the sound half-transformed into distressing shivering noises.

Harry caved and shrugged out of his leather jacket. Three days ago, Harry had come home to see Sirius wearing a fancy new leather jacket. Which had been as good as an okay for him to adopt the old one permanently. He loved it. Though slightly shameful to admit, he liked how it smelled of him; Sirius. It was a weird quirk that dated back from his days with the Dursleys. With each brief visit, Sirius had brought him one of his sweaters, because Harry lacked a plush to keep with him at night. The sweater was what he got to hold at night in his small, cramped cupboard. They had always smelled of Sirius. And with that, Harry had always known that someday, he would get out of there. And he had.

Right now, he dropped it carefully on Lavender's slender shoulders. She yipped in surprise -that hight, lilting noise only women seem to be able off.

She looked up at him in, eyes wide, "Oh, you don't have to."

"Your lips were about to go blue, I'd feel like an ass if I'd let you freeze to death before we arrived at the Ganad's," said Harry.

"Thanks," said Lavender, pulling it closer around her, "Still warm."

"Hmm,"

"So Harry, tell me, have you got the obligatory shameful picture of you as a toddler running around naked in the backyard?" she narrowed her eyes playfully. The girls, having been so outnumbered, had insisted that they have rights to choose one activity for the night. If the boys had been left to their devices, it would be hardcore thriller, horror and action movies and frantic Super Smash Bros contests on the GameCube. Of all things, the girls had insisted on everybody taking along a photo album of when they were a kid.

"There is no such thing as shameful picture of teeny Harry, I was awesome even as a kid," he teased back.

Lavender wormed an arm into his, so they were hooked in, "I can't wait to see that. I bet you were the most adorable little thing."

Pretending to sigh deeply, he returned, "I just said I was awesome, of course I was also awfully cute when I was little." As soon as he said that, he remembered the pictures Sirius had taken of him when he'd dressed up as Spiderman, way back when he was five. Oh, God. And the ones of he and the other kids of the neighborhood running around naked in the Diggory's backyard during Cedric's birthday party, throwing cake at each other. And wearing said Spiderman mask. He was so not going to live down the evening.

Lavender giggled, "Harry, you're blushing!"

"I think I left the door open at home, maybe I should go and check before we get robbed!"

Clutching his arm tightly, she tittered, "Oh, no, you're not! I can't _wait _to see that album!"

--

"Oh Harry, you were so _cute_!" The girls cooed, looking at him fondly.

Face burning, Harry took a deep gulp of his tea, looking anywhere but his album. Sprawled on the mattresses around the couch were few other guys, their embarrassment receding now that there was a new victim. The boys' teasing was merciless, bordering on humiliating, while the girls fawned over every picture. And did they really have to take such a long, long, looong time staring at each picture? Hermione had his book cradled in her lap, while Lavender; oh, cruel, cruel Irony, was holding Draco's.

"Oh isn't this one just precious!" Lavender tittered.

Draco, who had been leaning against the couch, his butt up on the edge, nipping at a glass of white wine, glanced at his album and groaned. It was then that Harry decided he ought to go and take a look for himself. Stumbling to his feet, the soft cushion of the mattresses unbalancing him, he wobbled to stand behind the girls. His eyes met Draco's for a moment and the blonde looked away. Fine.

Lavender turned a page. "Oooh! Just look at that! Draco, you little rebel."

Draco maintained stony silence, ignoring the little teasing swat she gave him. Apparently, seeing Draco as a child had made the girls temporarily unafraid of him.

Curious, pulling his eyes away from his own album, he looked at Draco's. The picture was adorable, surprisingly enough. Little Draco was like a perfect kid. The additional chubbiness children have made his sharp features soft and rounder. The hair was white, not light blonde but the very white you start out with before it gives away to a more natural blonde or light brown. Eyes more blue than gray were wide with glee as little toddler Draco was about to scoop out another handful of strawberry marmalade out of a plundered jar. Evidence of this youthful delinquency was smeared in dripping patches all over the white kitchen cabinets, the shining white tiled floor and all over Draco, in the hair, on his face, on his tummy, ...

The next picture was of a very beautiful young woman holding him a away at arms length, under his arms, while Draco was reaching at her apparently besides himself with joy. The woman (his mother?) was tall and slender, in an immaculate dress, rich blonde hair pinned up in a expert bun, eyes a deep blue. She was laughing.

"Is that your mum?" Neville asked carefully, almost as if expected to get screamed at.

Draco glanced once more over his shoulder. His eyebrows winged up in surprise, "God, they took pictures of that? But, yes, that's my mother."

"She's beautiful." Lavender said, awed, jealousy underscoring her words, as usually when one female spots another, more perfect specimen.

"She is," he said simply, and then, "That's my father, obviously."

"Holy shit! He looks just like you, but with longer hair!" Seamus exclaimed.

Kid Draco was enthusiastically and even at that age perhaps a little sadistically hugging a tall, broad shouldered man, who was, without success trying to get him in bath. Clutching was more accurate and even though he was already stripped from his soiled outfit, he managed to have enough marmalade left to cover his father in. The white dress shirt was soaked trough red, with gobs of fruit sliding down into the neckline.

"Wow, he's something!" Lavender whistled, the other girls giggling a little.

Draco resumed peering at his glass of wine and said softly, "Isn't he, though."

Perhaps he was paranoid, but Harry though there was bitterness and maybe even sadness in the way he said it. He glanced sharply at him, but Draco was swirling the wine in his glass with a preoccupied manner.

"YES!" Lavender all but screamed, "I knew it! Ickle Harry running around naked in the backyard!"

Hermione added, "And look, he's wearing a Spiderman mask."

His tea going down the wrong way had Harry spluttering and coughing, while Neville pounded him dutifully on the back.

"This I got to see!" Darragh exclaimed, followed by a madly grinning Finbar as they both emerged from the kitchen.

As it was, the next two pages were plastered full with pictures of Cedric's birthday party and Harry felt himself hunching with shame, a little more so with each picture.

"Whoa, that kid's totally owning you, Harry!" Seamus laughed, pointing at a photo of equally naked little Cedric sitting on Harry's back, who was laying face down in the grass. A chunk of pasty was being rubbed in his black hair. There was a look of almost wicked glee on Cerdic's face.

"Isn't that Cedric?" Finbar asked suddenly.

"Yeah," Harry said ruefully, "he was about two years older than me and always had a great time using that advantage."

Darragh was sporting a look almost disturbingly akin to the one on child Cedric's face, "I knew I was right to like him."

Elbowing his brother, Finbar said, "If I remember correctly we have a lot of pictures similar to this one. Instead it's you getting owned by me, Blaise or even Datum."

"You do forget that that that you were all older than me. You just liked to pick on me," Darragh reproached him, remembering some old injustice. Then suddenly, "You even cut off all my hair once, that was how big a bully you were!" He had stuck out his lower lip and was glaring at the taller youth.

"That was me, actually," Blaise said calmly, "Finbar was the one who gave you a glass of soap and told you it was a new kind of lemonade that made you invincible. You got cramps so bad Aunt Serene got hysterics; she thought you had some really weird stomach ailment."

Finbar grinned as he recalled that day, "I got in so much trouble when mum found out. I think I got over a month's worth of house arrest."

"Serves you right," Darragh muttered, "You great big bully!"

"Hush you!" Jinx said giving him a push against the back of his head, "Who was the one who told me he wanted to play dolls with me and ended up cutting off all their hair?"

"We were playing fashion and they needed a makeover!" Darragh countered, "Mind you I had nobody to bully, so it's only natural I bossed you around when I stayed over."

Blaise had his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, "You know, you really could be a pain in the ass when you were a kid. You always got into trouble; the times we had to get you out if trees, lakes and out of any kind of mess possible... It was unbelievable. And somehow we got always blamed." While talking he never took his eyes of the board, watching closely how a black pawn came two squares closer. In the background Darragh grumbled something and went to get the door as the bell suddenly rang shrilly.

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he flicked his light brown eyes up to Alex's, eying her calculatingly from over the checkered board. He delicately moved a white knight, "Checkmate." he added.

Alex, the only girl who was not actively gawking at the albums, threw up her hands. "Fuck it. I give up, you're unbeatable."

"Yeah, I totally mopped the floor with you didn't I?" he said smugly, stretching his arms high above his head so his shirt left an inch of tanned skin bare above his black jogging trousers.

Alex didn't quite manage to glare as menacingly as she otherwise would have in the face of that.

Meanwhile all dogs were jumping around barking loudly, even spontaneously slobbering on people already present as if the bell was a signal to greet everyone once more. Harry toppled backwards on the mattresses as two dogs pounced on him.

In the sudden lull, Ron, to everybody's surprise, challenged Blaise to a game of chess. When Darragh came sauntering back into the living room Dean, Parvati and Padma were trailing behind. Harry was sure this meant Dean hadn't had the chance to do much with what Parvati's sister having flocked to them.

"Hi guys," Dean said. If the blush would have shown with his skin tone, he would've looked as red as a tomato.

"Hi!" Parvati and Padma almost chorused.

Blaise smashed down his first pawn up on the board with such force other pieces toppled over.

"You guys want something to drink?" Finbar asked politely, patting Blaise consolingly on the head as he passed by.

"Yes please," Parvati said. She looked somewhat discomposed, standing there in her tight, sexy little outfit while the rest of them was lounging in comfortable clothes. Meanwhile Dean had picked up his backpack and went up to the bathroom to change. Seamus shot up after him, probably to needle him for juicy details.

Ginny and Hermione had their heads closely together as they went through the immense stack of DVD's the whole group had brought. Hermione's wild, brown curls were a clashing contrast against Ginny's red, sleek hair.

"_The Lake House_!" Ginny said, "I like that one!"

Hermione picked up another one, and turned it around to read the back, "What about this one? _Erin Brockovich_?"

"What about _Meet Joe Black_?" Ginny suggested.

"Or _Memoirs of a Geisha_?

Draco choose that as the moment to intervene. Snatching _Memoirs of a Geisha_ out of Hermione's hands, he said imperiously, "What about '_no_', '_no_' and never to forget '_no_!'" casually tossing _Memoirs of a Geisha_ over his shoulder (luckily Darragh caught it) he set to choose one himself, "We've got _The Bourne Supremacy_, _Mindhunters_, _A man Apart_, _Paycheck_,..."

Darragh was watching over his shoulder, "Hey, _Brokeback Mountain_-"

"NO!" everybody shouted.

"We can skip to the fun parts?" he suggested with a little smile.

Finbar rolled his eyes, "I recall you fell promptly asleep about twenty minutes into the movie. You only stay awake when people get killed or something gets blown up every ten minutes or so."

"Silence!" Draco demanded, ignoring the muttering.

Edging over to get a peek too, Harry leaned over Hermione's shoulder. Both she and Ginny had a rather resigned look on their faces.

"No, no, no and -ugh- _noooo_!" Draco kept digging into the small mountain of movies, scattering them everywhere. "You all got a horrible taste movie-wise, you're aware of that, aren't you? This is all cra- oh, here," he began to say, just as Harry exclaimed:

"_Lucky Number Slevin_!"

At which they promptly treated one other to a venomous look.

Harry grabbed it out of the blonde's hands, "That's mine, thanks," he snarled at the youth who now stood towering over them. Then, somewhat sheepishly, he turned to the rest of his friends, "So, uh, everybody alright with this one?"

--

It was about half past nine in the morning when Blaise Zabini woke up with an odd jolt in the pit of his stomach.

It took him a few minutes to get his bearings and he lay blinking blearily at the title menu of _Pan's Labyrinth _on the screen. Around him, on the mattress covered floor and on other couches lay his friends and fellow peers. Blaise himself was on his stomach, taking up the whole three-seater sofa, one arm dangling over the edge and his cheek pressed against the armrest, putting neck at a rather uncomfortable angle. It did not help that Darragh was lying half on top of him, wedged between the side of Blaise's body and the back of the couch. Breathing softly, he could feel his cousin's head rising up and down, nestled between his shoulder-blades. Ever so often Darragh mumbled something that certainly wasn't english, but other than that he appeared fast asleep.

As reality settled more firmly into place once more, Blaise wondered what had him started awake so violently. He let his eyes roam over the room. The lingering dizziness was quickly replaced by annoyance as he saw Padma lying almost artfully displayed right next to his position on the coach. It was going to be a real pain to wake after hours of sleeping like that. Granted, she looked nonetheless really beautiful like that.

Finbar was in the one-person sofa. His legs were dangling over the armrest, his upper-body cupped in the seat. Black hair fanned out around his face in a right mess. Curled up on his stomach as unobtrusively as possible was one of the dogs, a Basset named Pim. Out of experience Blaise knew the creature weighted quite a lot. It was a surprise Finbar could still breathe.

His sister was curled in a little ball, huddling with Ginny under a blanket. Her eyelashes looked really dark and long as they rested against her delicate cheekbones. Her madly waving dark haired look in as bad a condition as Finbar's.

The next head of wild black hair belonged to Harry, who was teetering on the edge of the mattress, about to be nudged off by a very selfish Draco Malfoy. Somehow during the last hours that night, the two of them had ended up having to share the only free spot left, as well as the last blanket. Fortunately, both of them had been so exhausted that they didn't have the heart to fight anymore. To Harry's credit, though, he seemed to have full possession of the blanket but for corner, to which Draco doggedly kept clinging.

For all the apparent conflict over the sleeping arrangements between the two of them, Blaise's best friend's face was remarkably devoid of any negative expression. As it always was when he was fast asleep. He was -opposed to Harry- sprawled all over the mattress, arms and legs spread-eagled. Face was turned to the side -facing the back of Harry's head- with his fine blonde hair flopping over his eyes. One arm was thrown over his head, lifting his dark shirt up and baring his stomach all the way to his bellybutton. His hipbones arched sharply at either side of his flat belly, looking almost painfully boney. Lips were half-parted and his cheeks flushed with sleep. It made him look strangely vulnerable, despite his dominant position.

Suddenly a strange, strangled sound came from somewhere in the house. He instinctively recognized it as what had woken him up. Nobody else seemed particularly bothered about it, all sleeping soundly. Besides Draco, who frowned, but did not manage to wake up.

Again, a harsh, terrible, heaving sound.

By then he knew exactly why it made all his alarm bells jingle. Already he was carefully inching his way out from under Darragh. Besides being as lean and slender as could be, his cousin managed to make it really hard for Blaise. Eventually, the half-Italian felt him slide away and he sat carefully up. The nice warmth from Darragh's body was instantly replaced by a cold draft. The kid made a comfortable blanket. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he tucked his cousin in and smoothed the terrible mop of brown hair back as well as he could.

Next came a difficult sequence of stepping carefully over the prone figures that took up the floor. He hopped over Harry last and his bare feet touched the cold stone floor. Taking no mind, he raced as stealthily as he could up the stairs. The wretched sound came once more, followed by laborious gasping.

He skidded to a halt in front of the bathroom. Pausing for only a moment, he knocked lightly and said, "Alex, you okay?"

Startled coughing and then, "Fine," a catch and more coughing, "I'll be fine, just a little... unwell." As if to prove herself wrong, her stomach decided to violently eject more of its contents. All speech was broken off. She probably couldn't even hear him right then.

Blaise winced and waited anxiously.

At last he could hear her fighting for air again.

"Can I come in?" he asked softly.

"NO!" she said loudly, "Please, don't! I'll be fine, honest."

"Why not?"

A short silence, "Because it's disgusting, that's why. I don't want you to see-" she stopped, unwilling to finish her sentence.

"Don't be silly," he said, leaning his forehead against the door, "you're my friend. Please, Alex."

She didn't say anything, but he could hear her trying to regulate her breathing. Just as he he thought it had already passed, she threw up again. He went in.

Alex was clinging to the toilet seat, her body arching forward with the effort. That awful, sickly sweet scent of vomit filled the bathroom. All business, Blaise cracked open the window a bit and proceeded to wet a washing-cloth with cold water under the tap. There was no hesitation at all when he kneeled down next to her; one hand gathering her dreadlocks out of her face and holding them plastered against the top of her head, the other rested on top of the washing cloth that he had placed on the back of her neck. Under his hands he could feel her strain with the effort. She was burning up.

This spasm passed, too, and once more she heaved in air with great gulps, her head drooping a little.

She could only despairingly groan, "_Blaise..._"

"What?"

There was a little noise that somehow managed to express all her shame and misery.

Blaise answered as if she had really put all those feelings into words, "Nonsense, you're my friend," his massaged the nape of her next lightly, "Why won't you let me take care of you?"

"Gods..." and she vomited again.

Running a soothing hand up and down her back, he could feel that she had both goose-bumps and was lightly sweating. Her head was frighteningly hot. He wondered if he would be really over-reacting if he brought her to the hospital.

After this initial wave of worry, he reasoned that as his mum was a doctor -no matter that she specialized in children- and that it would have to do. Nevertheless he still felt as if the world should stop turning and the whole of Hogsmeade spurred into action to assure Alex would be alright.

By the time this surge of what now only seemed to be bile, ended, Alex was ashen. She hung on to the toilet as if that was all that was keeping her from keeling over. Her body still heaved ever so often, but it seemed she had nothing left to actually throw up. At long last her breathing settled down somewhat and Blaise ventured to leave her alone of a few seconds to fill a glass with water. Setting it down next to her, he gathered the hair once more out of her face.

"Better out than in," he said softly.

She managed a flicker of a smile, but now her teeth seemed set on clattering.

When he saw her swaying, her eased her into a more upright position, leaning her against him and flushed the toilet. Using the washing cloth, he wiped her face and her mouth, very, very carefully, knowing how sensitive you could be when seriously ill. Lastly, he offered her the glass.

She shook her head tiredly.

"Just to clean your mouth," he coaxed, "You can spit it out. It'll feel better."

With a shaking hand, she lifted the glass. She only took a small sip, used it to rinse her mouth and spat it out.

"Bloody hell," she said tremulously.

"You can say that again," he replied.

No longer able to care now that she had already shamed herself so profoundly in front of him, Alex gladly clung to him. She genuinely wondered when her world would stop reeling.

It seemed that by now the others were waking up, too. Draco and Darragh peeked discreetly into the bathroom.

Draco went possibly whiter than his hair, "Alex! Are you okay?" Darragh had to put a steadying hand on his shoulder to keep him from dashing in and snatching her away.

"Peachy," Alex said hoarsely, with a distinguished swallow.

Darragh took a few steps closer and crouched down besides them. His face got worried and extremely serious when he felt for her temperature. He opened his arms, "Let me take her to my room, she needs to rest."

"I'll do it," Blaise said rather sharply.

Letting his cousin be, Darragh kept a remarkably wise silence, taking no offense at the lashing. Instead, he got very sharp and keen look on his face, pursing his lips even. The wheels were turning in his head.

Draco seemed at loss, and seemed greatly relieved when Darragh suggested he check the medicine cabinet for something to calm her stomach.

When it came to it, Blaise needed Darragh's help to get her into a comfortable position. Then both of them headed for Darragh's room, Blaise cradling Alex against his chest, the latter protesting that she could walk for herself, thankyouverymuch. Not that the boys listened to her. Opening the door for them, Darragh wished he had cleaned his room.

Blaise had to walk carefully through the garments, books and other belonging littering the floor. Besides that, it was very clean, the bed immaculately straightened and a pleasant smell in the room. Already Darragh was peeling aside the sheets and fluffing up the pillows.

"Don't fuss like that," Alex attempted to protest again.

Nevertheless Blaise lowered his delicate burden onto the bed and proceeded with drawing the sheets over her. Both he and Darragh sat down on the edge, watching how Alex's eyes already began fluttering shut. They made her take the medicine Draco brought, even though she was afraid she was going to be sick again.

"Oh, do shut up," Darragh said, "If you chuck it up on my bed, we'll clean it up. Stop making such a big deal out of it."

It seemed plain honest truth worked best on her, and she settled back.

Blaise had gone downstairs to phone his mum. That left Draco and Darragh watching how her breathing slowed and eventually steadied itself.

"She must have been real exhausted," Darragh whispered softly, feeling her face again, "she's so warm."

Draco's eyes were a little too wide and he kept smoothing the sheets around her, sometimes altering it by arranging her dreadlocks. "I wish there was something I could do," he said, "I hate feeling like this," he added with passionate bitterness.

"Like what?" Darragh asked, having retrieved his plush unicorn toy. He put it reverently next to her under the sheets. Neither of them seemed to think of the gesture as ridiculous. The plush was tattered and old, that it had gone gray from being washed repeatedly and had a button sewed on instead of a glassy eye.

Sighing deeply Draco said, "You know, back when I first became friends with Blaise? I think you must've been around eleven or so... when you..."

"Ah," Darragh said, his face calm, "When I nearly drowned in the lake."

Nodding quickly, he continued, "I'll always remember how your brother jumped in right after you and managed to get you back on the shore... And how Blaise did CPR on you," his voice wavered, "I'll always remember that there was nothing I could do, nothing at all. Your lips had gone blue and I don't think I've ever been more scared."

"You called the medics," Darragh offered with a smile, "And you brought me chocolate every time you visited me in the hospital, even though you hardly knew me."

Draco shrugged, looking dismally at the girl that mattered so much to him.

"Please don't tell me you feel guilty about that?" Darragh asked suddenly, eying him incredulously.

Again, he shrugged, but did not meet the golden eyes of his companion.

"Aw, man," the other said, not without astonishment. He put an arm around the blonde's shoulders, ignoring the way Draco went rigid. "Draco, my friend, I order you to stop feeling bad about that. I don't understand how you can feel guilty about something that was entirely my own fault. I didn't listen to my brother and jumped right into the water, not paying attention that he had warned me for those cold currents. I knew what would happen if my body got such a shock; muscle cramps... well you know."

"Yeah, and if it was not for Finbar and Blaise, you'd be dead," Draco said angrily.

"C'mon, Draco, sheesh," Darragh admonished him, giving him a light shake, "get over it already. I'm alive and kicking, aren't I?"

Draco's sigh came out of the core of his heart, "I know. But I just can't seem to..." he never finished, opting to touch Alex's face gently once more.

Taking his arm away, Darragh realized he had just gotten a open-hearted relay of Draco's most hidden feelings. Quite a shock actually if one know that getting Draco to tell anyone anything was like extracting blood from a stone.

It seemed that Draco was afraid to fail. Not only that, that he was also afraid to lose people. To be abandoned.

And, Darragh though to himself, something he had been quite aware of for a long time, that Draco was afraid to remain alone. That when everybody moved on and established a life, Draco would be forced to follow the selfsame tracks of his father. Worried that he might become his father all over again. And, deep inside, a tiny bit jealous of the way his two best friends looked at each other. Because he knew Draco was neither Alex's boyfriend or even the least romantically interested in her. Nobody had needed to tell him. He had felt that coming for a long time.

And...

His suspicions had been needlessly confirmed when he'd seen Draco reach out and touch Harry's scar and then his lips when he thought everybody had been asleep.

Oh, Harry.

Darragh felt his own heart throb painfully.

* * *

deep gasping breaths I updated! Tralalalalaaa... never fear, however long it might take, I do update. I had a lot of trouble with this one, just today I cut out almost ten pages of crap and started mostly all over again. When I -ever- get my website, I'll make a page where you can view all the 'deleted' scenes. Might be interesting to see what you've missed out on.

I don't know whether it was obvious, but underneath it all, this Chapter was very much about Draco, only never through his POV and never while focussing exclusively on him.

ANYWAY: important! Thank you Limit and crissy! Very, very much so. Both of you -looks at Limit- have been very adamant about getting me to update. And I don't think that without seeing two of my readers go through so much trouble to get me to write again, I wouldn't have done so for a very long time. Thus;

Thank you Limit.

Thank you crissy. (your request has me considering all sorts of options, but I really can't switch the plot now. I do have an ending for this. But you're right, there _is something_.)

Also: thank _all of you_ for the wonderful reviews. They really make me happy. Please continue to support me. For it takes a lot of trouble to keep writing regularly and without you guys rooting for me, I just wouldn't be able to do it.

Err... Anybody volunteering to beta again? Please note; your English has to be immaculate. Both grammatically and vocabulary. If you send a message to me with stupid spelling mistakes, well, I won't even reply to that, you know.

However, I don't know how's it called, but I might like one or two guys out there who are willing to help me with plot-realted stuff and the flow of the story. Also note, if you are on hot coals for Harry and Draco to finally have hot wild monkey sex, you're not up to the job. Someone who can honestly tell me, 'Wihstrum, what the hell is that passage doing there? Or this scene doesn't flow well at all. Or who can say; that was wonderful, keep up the good work. I love this or that, and that was funny, ...' you know.

Title credits go to Limp Bizkit - Behind Blue Eyes


	13. Paint It Black

Disclaimer: I do _not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs. But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Chapter Thirteen – Paint it Black**

_"That was not a nice thing to say." - Theodore Nott_

It was something so typical and so cliché that Blaise was not quite sure this was really happening to him. In a perfectly normal world, the real world, situations like this just couldn't be allowed to happen. On the telly, fine, because the telly needed to be extra-dramatic, over-the-top, nail-biting to compare to the real world. People like to watch the telly because it showed things that normally don't happen or at least not quite in such quick a succession. Things that lacked in their lives and consequentially made television watching so utterly entertaining.

Blaise did not find this to be the least bit entertaining.

In fact, if he'd have a remote he would have gladly skipped to the part where everything turned out alright again. But he didn't have a remote and this was very much happening right now. And quite honestly, he was pretty damn scared.

About half an hour ago Alex had started to rant, quite horribly so. She kept stringing sounds and words and what else deliriously together. Blaise blamed it on the fever. Yesterday, Blaise's mum had picked them up not long after they'd put her to bed at Aunt Serene's. Being a nurse, Brinn had quickly deducted that the illness was not particularly grave, but just very tiring. It brought a sharp increase of temperature, vomiting and, in due time, coughing. That was all there was to it. Simply a bad bout of the flu or something like it.

Thus, with that in mind, they had decided to keep Alex at their place for the time-being. It was only natural that the girl needed to be cared after. Yet nobody had been able to stay at home: his father, Vito, had an urgent meeting; his mum had been booked full for the day at hospital; Datum was at her boyfriend's and the others all had school or were much too young. Blaise had outright refused to leave Alex alone. She lacked even the strength to go to the bathroom, nonetheless be able to take care of herself. Seeing her in such bad shape chilled Blaise to the bone. He would not be leaving her alone, and told his family such. Having seen the look on her son's face, Brinn knew there would be no reasoning with him. Alex needed him and he would be staying.

So there he was. Alone. With Alex.

Obviously, the fever had to go down. He already knew what he _should_ do. But... for the love of everything good in the world, he seemed quite unable to.

Sitting on a chair next to the bed, he prayed. Earnestly so. But he got no sudden insight of inner wisdom and Alex, instead of magically improving, worsened dramatically. When her eyes rolled back, he surged up, gathered her in his arms, and began walking to the bathroom. Walking with her burning body to the bathroom, he tried not to think about what he was going to do and what it might mean to their friendship.

This just wasn't fair.

Carefully, he sat her down on top of the toilet seat. Swallowing thickly, he said, slowly and clearly, "Alex. The fever has to go down. It's imperative that we lower your body temperature. Do you understand?"

He though she nodded.

"I-" he took a deep breath and looked into her fever-bright eyes, "I have to put you under a cold shower. Alex, I'm going to have to undress you. Do you understand me?" He was shaking almost as badly as she now. He wondered if he was nothing but a big coward.

She nodded again. By God he hoped she did.

And that was how, for the very first time, he did something he had been dreaming about for quite a time now.

He was quite sure it was never meant to be as gut-wrenching as this. It might have been intimate, as it would have been on the telly but he felt quite wretched and even as if he were doing something... really twisted. With her arms around his neck, she stood wavering, while he undressed her with trembling hands. Admirably, Alex managed to hold on.

Her body was so warm yet she shivered. A kind of bone-deep trembling that made him worry if he were doing the right thing to help at all. It came at an enormous relief that she had worn no bra. He was quite sure he would have never been able to unhook it. The hardest part, though, were the trousers. It required her stepping out of them while he pulled them away. That meant him crouching down and Alex standing by herself. They struggled with this for a few moments. Eventually he sort of lifted her out of them.

With her naked in his arms, clinging to him for dear life, Blaise glared dismally at the bathtub. However was he going to do this? He could hardly dump her there to sit on the cold floor of the tub. He wasn't even sure that she was _here_ any longer. The undressing seemed to have leeched her last strength. And he was the only thing that kept her from slumping to the floor.

"Okay," he said softly, "You're going to have to hold onto me real tight for a moment. Can you do that?"

"Think," she managed between clattering teeth, "so."

"Hold on now," he said.

After quite an acrobatic display, he was left with only his boxers. He just pretended not to notice when her bare breasts brushed up against his chest.

"One, two, three-" he said as a warning and lifted her into the tub.

Alex seemed no longer able to say much, but doggedly hung on. Stretching, he managed to give a twirl to the tap. Almost instantly, freezing cold water sprayed upon them.

"Aah!" Alex grabbed him, obviously distressed.

Blaise held her and apologized, "It's bad now, but you'll feel better afterwards. I promise," and apologized some more, hating how inadequate it sounded. The water was terrible, his own teeth were clattering, too.

"_C-c-c-c-c-c-oooold_!" she insisted.

"I know, I'm sorry," he said again, "I'm sorry," and he splashed she cold water all over her using his free hand. How many times lately had he dreamed about a similar situation? It was not that he hadn't seen her naked before, he saw her like that every Friday when he had to draw her for class. Still, to him, this was profoundly different. She was so small. Small enough for him to rest his chin on the top of her head. The hand he used to steady her was on the small of her back, and he spanned it completely. He had seen the scar on her hip; the one that pulled her skin in all sorts of weird shapes, the tattoo that ran over the entire length of her leg, the freckles, the swell of her buttocks and her ample breasts. He just wished that it hadn't of had to happen this way.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

Alex just shivered and held on to him.

He didn't dare keep her under there for too long so when the cold water began to hurt him, he shut off the stream of water.

"You did well," he told her, and wrapped her tenderly into a big fluffy towel.

Dripping all over the landing as he walked to his own bedroom with her, he tried to discern if it had done any good at all. Her shivering seemed to come in surges with a creepy stillness setting them apart. Please, he pleaded, let the fever go down.

He sat her down onto his bed. Kneeling in front of her and peering at her face, he asked, "You okay?"

A miserable thumb-up was her answer.

He couldn't help but grin at that. "Good," he said, "I'm going to get you something clean and fresh to wear, kay? You going to be alright for a minute? Good, now wait there!" and he rushed out of the room wondering where the hell a sick young woman woman wearing nothing but a towel might run of to. Wait there. Could he have been any more inane?

While borrowing a white blouse of Jinx' and a pair of his own trousers for her to wear, he quickly threw his wet boxers in the laundry basket. Quickly pulling on a dry pair and jeans, he hurried back. Teeth clattering, Alex glanced up at him as he came hurrying in again. She seemed somewhat more alert now so although he didn't feel as utterly wretched as he had when undressing her, clothing her was just that much more difficult. But, together, they got it done. He was very embarrassed when they were done, though. Trouble had arisen when he had needed to pull the shirt over her breasts, which had proven to be a rather... tight fit. Why hadn't he just taken a loose t-shirt? But now having to say 'your chest is too big, I need to fetch something looser' did just not seem a valid option.

She seemed thoroughly exhausted when they were finished and Blaise helped her crawl under the sheets. When he came back with medicine for her fever and the antibiotics for her disease, Alex was sitting up again.

"W-w-what i-if I get sick in your bed?" she clattered at him.

He was tremendously relieved to hear her talking coherently. It must have shown on his face because Alex managed an odd grin back from around her rattling teeth.

"Don't worry about that," he said, "just try to get some sleep." He fed her the medicine, smiled at her disgusted expression, and kindly pushed her down unto the bed again. With her secure and apparently out of her delirium, Blaise went to tidy up the bathroom and pull on a jumper himself.

When he came back, she was fast asleep. Checking with the back of his hand, her temperature did not seem to have gone through a dramatic drop. Please let me have done the right thing, he pleaded again.

Taking post on his chair by her bed, he brought out a book. Not that he was actually able to pay attention to it, nevermind the fact that he was holding it upside-down as well. But he was pretending. Blaise was good at pretending.

Though he wasn't quite sure who he was trying to fool right then.

--

The overall theme of the day seemed to be 'misery loves company'. Harry wondered if his life had hit it's absolute low. Besides being feeling awful, the weather was ghastly and Ron and Hermione seemed to have had 'Their First Big Fight.' If before he had felt a little excluded, he now very much felt that he was way too involved. That is, that Ron and Hermione made him their center point. Silly really, if you knew that barely twenty-four hours ago they had finally seemed to have reached that much desired 'next step' in their relationship. Whatever that might be.

God, perish the thought.

But really now, Harry thought as he morosely sat eating his lunch all by himself, too far was too far. They had used him as their personal messenger, 'Harry, would you please tell Mr. Weasley to refrain from imposing his company upon me' and then Ron 'Harry, can you tell Miss I Am So Obnoxious that this is a free country and that I am allowed to impose myself upon whomever I want'. Which, considering recent circumstances, had sounded incredibly wrong to Harry. Anyway, the worst part was that while they were using him to relay messages, they could hear each other perfectly well. Eventually they had not even waited for him to pass on the message and had started arguing over his head. Harry got up and left the table, making his way outside even though it was pouring outside; it had to be better than sitting inside with the squabbling couple.

Harry's mind shied away from the fact that this fight was about sex. Why did they have to argue about it in non too subtle hints when he wanted nothing to do with it in any way possible.

He had enough trouble with his own sexuality, thank you very much. Bad enough that he'd barely closed an eye at all that night. And he'd pointedly refused to- Stop it! Stop it! Angrily chomping on his sandwich as if it was the origin of his inner turmoil, Harry sat fuming in the soft drizzling rain.

Appetite spoiled now, Harry set about to lumbering back to the dryness of the school building. Inside, people had begun milling around again, moving in little flocks, as they only had about ten minutes before the bell rang. Harry had Modern Literature with McGonagall; so he began making his way up the staircases. Rain dripped into his neck from the wet mess that was his hair and Harry knew he must look fairly wretched. Students kept looking over their shoulders at him while he wandered through the hallway wondering where his friends where or what they were doing. Of course, on the other hand, the glances might have something to do with the dark look on his face.

Harry was nearly positively sure it was the worst day of his life by the time he reached the third floor.

"Don't come any closer!" someone said rather shrilly.

Looking up, Harry saw he was standing on the edge of what looked to be a mob gathered around some sort of spectacle. Annoyed, Harry began edging his way around. When he was almost through, he was suddenly halted by a much too familiar voice for his own comfort.

"Look it was an accident-"

The other cut over it, "He's been at it for weeks now! Hasn't he, Kevin? He was there, he saw- in the showers! He saw! Didn't you, Kevin?"

"Oh get over yourself, Corner," Darragh said coolly, "Don't think too high of yourself, now. Besides, I'm not feeling accommodating enough to wait with showering until you twits are done."

Despite his better judgment, Harry found himself struggling towards the centre of the attention now. Over their heads, he saw Professor Vector arriving and unsuccessfully trying to get the students to disperse.

"Hear that? Of course you wouldn't," Corner thrilled nastily, "You're just panting for it, aren't you-"

After a rather maniacal laugh, Darragh spat, "Don't be stupid, Corner. After all, _you_ needn't worry, not my type you know? I like _men_, and I don't think you even got the balls to show you're one-"

Harry shoved the last student aside with a huff and stepped wearily into the clear space everybody had created around the two boys. Only that Kevin bloke was standing a bit behind Corner and kept saying 'Yes, I was there!' and 'I saw it!'.

"What's going on here?" Harry asked, pitching his voice above Kevin's 'It's true! I was standing right behind Michael!'

Physically jumping, Darragh snapped his head towards him, "Harry!" he said, but didn't sound very relieved to see him.

Michael thought he'd found a new ally in Harry and took a few steps closer. "You know him, right?" he asked eagerly.

Nodding, Harry arched an eyebrow at Corner.

"Did you know he's totally hot for boys?" Corner confided, "He-he doesn't take no for an answer. Ever since that time in the showers, he's been... trying stuff." He looked at the floor, his mouth twisting as if he'd tasted something vile.

Oh wonderful, as if his day hadn't been wrecked enough, there had to be a case of rampaging homophobe, too. He looked at Darragh over Corner's head.

Darragh shrugged helplessly.

Sighing, Harry wondered if he could still back away and disappear into the crowd again. He was quite sure he was unqualified to deal with this sort of situation tactfully. That's why he was for once happy (no, not happy, just not disgusted) to see Snape. Because the crowd melted like snow before the sun as he came billowing towards them.

Of course, leave it to Snape to spoil his moment of peacefully not loathing him.

"Potter!" he barked, "What is the meaning of all this?"

His cheeks going hot with indignation, Harry was set to protest loudly when Corner began babbling again.

"Professor Snape, sir!" he gushed, "It's nothing to do with Harry! It was him-" he jerked his head towards a very tired looking Darragh, "He's been, he's been molesting me, sir!"

Snape's greasy forehead crumpled as he raised his eyebrows. Harry had to resist the urge to shudder and wondered if this was his cue to hightail it out of there.

"Molesting you Corner?" he said in his usual drawl, "Whatever has Mister Ganad done to merit such an accusation?"

Looking a bit more unsure, Corner made shifty eyes at Professor Vector and then said loudly, for the whole hallway to hear; "He groped me in the shower sir!"

Immediately Darragh snarled, "You God damn dolt! I accidentally knocked into you!"

"Silence!" Snape said coldly and Darragh shut his mouth grudgingly, giving Corner a truly horrid look.

"Now, Darragh-"

Snape was on first term names with Darragh? Harry's head reeled.

"-did you... molest Corner in anyway then or now?" He paused long enough to show how unlikely he thought that notion to be.

"Of course I didn't!" Darragh said angrily, looking a little red in the face.

"Well then, I think that's settled then," Snape said, leering through his straggling hair at Corner, "Corner, I will see you Wednesday afternoon for detention and Darragh, I expect you to be in the classroom before I arrive. And do refrain from re-engaging in this argument afterwards, or you shall share in Corner's fate.

"Understood, sir," Darragh said, smirking a little.

Corner was aghast, "This is unfair! He's a dirty queer who can't keep his eyes and his hands to himself and _I_ get detention?"

"Mister Corner!" Professor Vector said, shocked.

"Shut your mouth, Corner, or you will serve detention every Wednesday until Christmas." Snape said dangerously, then, with a dismissive gesture, he turned to Harry again.

So much for hoping Snape had forgotten about him.

"I still don't see what your role is in this, Mister Potter," he drawled slowly.

"I, er," Harry began, eloquent as ever.

Desperate, Corner all but pounced on the opportunity, "Harry! Harry! Tell Snape that he's wrong! You know don't you? About his filthy habits, rutting into some bloke's arse-" everybody gasped and Darragh looked as if he seriously considering to murder Corner right then and there, "You agree, don't you, that he's an abnormal queer and-"

The look on his face must have been so intense that Corner trailed of into silence. Harry's ears were roaring, "Agree with you, Corner? I can't say I do," he seemed unable to stop talking. "Seeing as I prefer blokes myself and all, no I don't think I agree at all. Filthy habits, hmm? Abnormal queer? And what? Go ahead, Corner, spill it all out what you think about us. I'll be happy to re-arrange your face for you when you're done-"

"Potter!"

Harry stopped short, out of breath and light headed. Looking at the other students' face made him feel sick.

"However fascinating your most recent development in your romantic life might be, and I'm sure your father would've been absolutely thrilled, I implore you to quell the urge to expand on it any further," he smirked with satisfaction and then pointedly ignored him. "Now then, I hope you are all in your respective classes before the bell rings, otherwise please remain and serve detention with Corner on Wednesday."

Just like that, everybody fled.

"Honestly!" Vector said. Turning to Corner who was still lingering and apparently honestly confused, she barked, "Well, then, you heard Professor Snape, or do you wish to serve detention with me on Fridays, too? No? Well, hurry along then." Walking behind him, flapping hands at Corner, Vector left.

Darragh was staring at the floor intensely, his neck flushed and teeth grinding with humiliation.

"I expect you in my class, Mr. Ganad, and sudden inexplicable rock-slides that may have barred the corridor will not be a valid excuse to be late," Snape drawled coldly.

"Yes sir," Darragh said, staring over Snape's shoulder into nothing. "I will make sure not to mention any sudden cave-in or rampaging leprechauns at that."

"Make sure you do," said Snape, peering at him from over his hooked beak of a nose. Whirling, he strode off, disappearing around the corner.

"Rampaging leprechauns?" Harry asked.

Darragh shrugged, "It happens from time to time. Professor Snape never believes me though."

"I can't imagine why not." Harry said, smiling.

"Yeah," Darragh said, "Yeah... look, Harry," he turned to him, frowning, "That was very... nice of you, but you really shouldn't have. I can take of myself."

"I wasn't really planning to just go and blurt 'I-am-gay' back there," Harry admitted, blushing again and feeling faint in his stomach. "But Corner really, really made me see red there."

Nodding, Darragh retorted, "As me. But, Harry, you do know what they're going to say, don't you?"

Lifting his eyebrows, Harry glanced up at him.

"They're," Darragh said with a breath, "going to say we're a couple."

"What?" Harry said, "_What?_" He looked around the hallway, flustered. "But we. Er. We aren't!"

His face almost emphatic, Darragh said softly, "Do you think that matters to them? You're gay, I'm gay and you stood up for me, threatening the shit out of Corner. By this afternoon there's going to be a general uproar."

"Oh," Harry blinked twice, very hard, and said, "Shit,"

Darragh nodded, his face wry, "Yeah, 'shit' is about right."

Harry was now absolutely, positively sure that today was going to be worst day of his life.

--

"Hello there, Weasel."

Weasley looked over his shoulder at him, face immediately contorting into a riot of loathing, "Shove off Malfoy."

"In a minute," Draco said lightly. "Tell me now, is it true? Did Granger finally see the absolute folly of her unfortunate choice in this unholy coupling and banished you from her bed? By the look of your face, it seems true. Trust me, Weasley, if there is one thing you really shouldn't do, it's pawing your grubby freckled hands-"

Face and ears red, Ron took two steps closer, snarling. Behind him Seamus and Lavender began to drop their bags in case they were going to need to have their hands free. With any luck, they'd only need to hold Ron back.

"You shut up about Hermione, you little rat!" he spat, freckles drowning in his flushed face.

Draco regarded him with mild contempt and obvious amusement, "Lord, Weasley, contain yourself. It was just an observation. For the greater good of the country you know? Seeing as you Weasleys are so abundant by now, I thought it wise not to-"

"SHUT UP!" Ron roared. Seamus grabbed his elbow, bracing his legs.

Smiling coldly at Seamus' narrowed eyes and Ron's burning face, Draco started to turn on his heel. "Oh snap," he said flatly. "Now I've gone and upset you. Don't take it so personally, Weasley, Granger just sees it as a sacrifice for the greater good. Chin up, mate."

And with that, he stalked away, smirking. Weasley was so easy. Draco had high hopes of inducing cardiac arrest in him before they left school.

He was quite good at entertaining himself. Had to today with only Theodore Nott as company. Mouth twisting, he wondered how Alex was doing and, for that matter, Blaise. Class was dreadfully empty without them. He hoped Alex would get better soon.

As usual, Nott seemed to pop out of thin air by his left elbow and Draco clutched his chest dramatically, "Would you bloody stop..._ appearing_ out of bloody nowhere?" he demanded piteously.

"That was not a nice thing to say," he said monotonously. Nott always spoke with the same flat drone as if he were incapable of social interaction. The only time he did otherwise was when he sang. Creepy bugger.

"Really now? And since when are you qualified to judge my actions?" Draco sniffed at him. "Besides, it's funny as hell."

"I suppose it is a bit," Theodore conceded, but then ruined that statement by adding thoughtfully, "They really love each other though."

"Oh, how vile! You're a horrible person, Nott. I don't even know why I put up with you!"

Nott did that slow blink of his that never meant anything good. "Because you have nobody else to talk to at the moment."

"Yes, make me feel better, why don't you." Draco said, making a terrible face. "You hopeless lummox. And it _is_ funny."

"You know what else is rather funny?" Nott said, sounding as indifferent as ever.

Every hallway was filled with a terrible racket, more so than usual. People were screaming gossip at each other or huddled in tight cliques whispering urgently. Draco had to ask Nott to repeat what he was saying several times. And when he finally managed to shout it clear enough, Draco wondered whether he had heard correctly.

"Pass that by me again, slowly."

Nott rolled his eyes, but tonelessly repeated, "I said that Harry Potter and that Darragh bloke are going out."

Draco was quite sure his brain imploded. "Say _what_?"

"I said, that Harry Pot-"

Draco flapped hands at him, "I heard you! I-" he collided harshly with some sixth year girl, sending her down to her knees on the floor and make him have to pinwheels his arms gracelessly for a moment to regain his balance.

"_Walk much?_" He snarled at her and stepped vindictively on her scattered books.

"That wasn't very nice either." Nott pointed out.

"News-flash, Nott! I am not a very nice person! I'm a brilliant, but horrible person." He hissed, breathing out hard through his nose. His eyes were a bit wild.

"More like misunderstood," Nott corrected him. "You clearly suffer from a low self esteem-"

"I do not!" Draco said harshly and collided once more with someone, though this time it was him who nearly keeled over backwards from the impact. When he got his bearings again, he found his eyes focusing on a hand. Eyes trailing up the hand, over the arm and then crossing chest and neck, Draco found himself staring up in the ashen face of stupid Harry Potter.

"Sorry about that," Potter said, voice gruff.

Narrowing his eyes, Draco felt his chest go taut and his mouth set into a hard line. Ignoring the proffered hand all together, he stood up again. He stared maliciously at Potter's face.

"Er." Potter said uncertainly, "Alone today?"

Draco wanted to strangle him. He lifted his eyes to look over Potter's shoulder at the person standing a step behind him. "You, apparently, are not." he drawled, looking back from Darragh's face to Potter's. He lifted his brows mockingly.

Potter stared at him incredulously.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked roughly.

Seeing Darragh shake his head frantically at him drew Draco's attention for a moment, but his mouth was already forming the words. "I suppose I should have seen it coming. Be wary Darragh, he tends to get real pushy when he's in the lavatories. Can't keep his hands to himself."

Potter was turning an alarming shade of red, "You're the one who can't keep his hands to himself!" he ground out with apparent difficulty, anger boiling in his voice.

It then occurred to Draco that it was very probable that he was biting of more than he could chew, but he just couldn't seem to stop talking. "Honestly though, he starts panting a bit right before he invades your personal space. It's a bit disgusting really."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter said, a dangerous look in his eyes; "I'm warning you."

"Oh, now he warns me-" Draco laughed in Potter's face, an edge to his voice that was a bit hysterical. Darragh stared at him disbelievingly and Draco agreed with him, but was only able to feel himself go very cold as he concluded, "Bit late, isn't it. You filthy queer."

There was a horrible silence. Draco's own mouth was open in shock. Darragh had his teeth bared. Potter's chest was rising and falling at an worrying rate. And Nott said, "That's not a nice thing to say."

Next thing he knew, the world went flying from underneath him and he ended up getting a glimpse from the ceiling as Potter hit him hard and savagely on the mouth. With a sickening smack he hit the cold flagstones, Potter riding him down. He grunted when Potter hit him again and again, and he tasted blood. He bucked and twisted but didn't manage any more than hurting himself and Potter was a lot heavier and stronger than he looked. Reaching out he felt for Potter's face, found it, wound his hand in that disgusting thick hair, and used it as a handle to yank him down. It was agony when he banged his forehead with everything he had against Potter's nose, but at least the hands that were twisted in his jumper let go. Potter made the mistake of clutching his nose and Draco used the moment to rear up and bite his neck. Potter hissed and hit him again with a fist that was slippery. Draco was quite sure his teeth were loose in their sockets now.

There was noise everywhere, people were shouting and even more hands than Potter was capable than possessing were scrabbling at him.

He was still kicking and flailing at air when he suddenly realized the heavy weight was gone from his lower abdomen and he could breathe again. He went limp in the next instant and was vaguely confused to see Terry Boot pinning him down by the shoulders to the ground. Boot let go when he stopped resisting. Blood started dribbling down his chin when he stood up.

He was pleased though to note that Potter's nose was noticeably distorted and blood was dripping out of his nostrils in a steady pace. Finbar had lifted Potter clear off the ground, pinning his arms against his torso as he did so. Potter was feebly kicking air and looked as if he'd been slapped awake.

Darragh was shouting at the top of his lungs, "You bloody idiot!" at Draco and Nott was shaking his head and muttering, "Not very nice at all".

During the ruckus, Granger had arrived and as she was spoke in a shrill, disapproving voice, "Have you gone mad, Harry?" Weasley squawked, "That was wicked, mate!"

When Finbar finally put Potter back on his feet, the first thing the cretin did was bring his hand up to his neck. It came away with a thin film of blood.

"You bit me," he said, sounding awed. "You actually bit me, Malfoy you- you _girl_."

"You hit me first," Draco returned petulantly. "More than once, I might add."

"You insulted me!" Potter said somewhat louder.

Eyes flashing nervously to see if Ganad was still there to grab Potter when he got rage issues again, he said, "You started it."

Harry looked confused, peering myopically at him, "No, I didn't." He said simply.

Stumbling to his feet, Draco mopped his chin with the sleeve of his jumper and snapped, "You're missing the point, you-" Draco faltered. "You hit me!" He said again, sticking to what he knew. God his teeth hurt. If he needed braces he was going to murder Potter with his bare hands.

McGonagall and Lupin both interrupted them in succession and Draco felt mildly relieved because he didn't care for the look in Potter's eyes. He felt strangely numb and everything was a bit fuzzy. He hoped he would die of internal bleeding and that Potter would get fried in an electric chair for murder. Pity they outlawed the chairs years past.

Their little tussle landed them arse-deep in detention again and an appointment with the Headmaster the day after about their 'irresponsible, juvenile behavior' as McGonagall so eloquently put it.

Draco wondered if this might be the time to commit ritual suicide.

--

His mouth and teeth still hurt while he stood waiting for the bus that halted in Zabini's neighborhood. He was in central Hogsmeade, having just purchased a little something for his sick friend.

He was very conscious of how he looked, having consulted a mirror and having felt horror slip trough his fingers. The store-clerk had stared quite vividly before looking away, abashed by Draco's glare. His mouth was a mess; Potter had beat him until his lower lip had split. It was swollen and already the whole area was turning a lovely purple. He had resigned to removing his eyebrow piercing in the hope that without it his eyebrow might heal without leaving a scar. Apparently, when he had used his forehead to wreck Potter's nose, the imbecile's glasses had shattered and his brow was cut up, as well. On top of that he had a pounding headache.

On a brighter note, however, Draco had successfully messed up Potter's stupid nose, which was purple and swollen by the time classes were over. Plus the breaking of his glasses had left teeny tiny cuts all over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones.

It was raining again and even though Draco had turned his collar up, he only got steadily more soaked. He wasn't feeling very triumphant by the time the bus screeched to a stop. He'd spent the dreary ride in scowling silence, the mother on the bench next his shielding her daughter from him and moving to the front of the bus. Grand.

When he got off, his brow was aching with the effort of frowning. But as he stood looking at the tasteful Victorian fence, he cheered up a bit at the prospect of seeing his friends. He was about to press the buzzer when someone called out to him.

"Draco! Wait up!"

His heart was beating against the back of his teeth and he felt horrid all over again; just as he had in the wake of the shocking confrontation.

"Draco," Darragh said in such an autocratic tone that he could not help but turn to face him.

He saw the thunderous expression on Darragh's face, his eyes narrowed to golden slits. Next thing he knew, he was lying on the wet pavement again.

Darragh crouched next to him and propped him upright. Clutching his left eye, Draco groaned. "You didn't have to hit me quite that hard."

"You bloody well deserved it," Darragh said fiercely. His otherwise glossy mess of hair was plastered to his skull leaving his face bare and striking-looking. "God knows you deserved it you moronic prick," he added and started hauling Draco to his feet.

"I understand your sentiment," Draco sniffed, "but I feel that the thorough beating your boyfriend gave me was brutal enough to get the message across." He reeled a bit as he stood and Darragh slung an arm around his middle to prevent him from keeling over.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Darragh said, sounding more exasperated than infuriated. "Harry's not my boyfriend, you dullard."

"But Nott said-"

"Honestly," Darragh said, sounding a bit like he might start laughing. "You ought to know not to believe what might be a fourth or even sixth hand account. Harry did come out and said he was gay and, yes, he did so while standing up for me. He also threatened to re-arrange Corner's face for him."

"I think it's reasonable of me to say that Potter needs anger management. Or medication. Possibly both." Draco grumbled.

"Hmm, yes, I'm sure. That's like the pot calling the kettle black," he told him, "And all that aside; I have a boyfriend thank you very much."

Draco thought he sounded a bit sad, but didn't dare point it out for fear of being smacked in the face again. He was quite certain he couldn't bear any more physical trauma today. And for the coming next weeks. Years even.

Bloody savages.

--

Blaise Zabini awoke to the pleasant sensation of a hand stroking his head. As soon as sleep left him through, the pleasant bit was replaced by screaming pain in the back of his neck from sleeping in such an awkward angle. Somehow he'd ended up kneeling at the bed, his head resting on his crossed arms. His mouth was so dry he was quite sure he'd slept open-mouthed. Oh wonderful.

"Hey sweetheart," his mum said, giving him her pretty eye-crinkling smile.

Smiling wryly back, Blaise scanned the room for a clue of the time and instead found the bed empty. The room swam for a moment when he surged up. "Where is she?" he demanded, his voice strident.

"Not to worry," his mother soothed him. "She was awake and feeling much better half an hour ago. Finbar came to visit her and they went downstairs."

"Oh," he said, feeling a bit at loss.

"Come down in a moment okay? You look like you could use a cup of tea," his mum fussed at his hair, patting it down to no avail and then left him to gathers his wits.

As soon as she left, Blaise let himself keel forwards and land on the bed with a muffled grunt. Shuffling the events of the last few weeks through his mind Blaise tentatively admitted to himself that he had A Very Big Problem. Mentally, that is. He was finally spiraling down into madness, he thought, but couldn't bring himself to stop deeply breathing Alex's lingering scent on the sheets. Rubbing his face against the smooth fabric, Blaise wondered if he could just stay here and sleep some more. He didn't want to play host. Flashes from his jumbled dreams sprang in front of his mind's eye and it was Alex naked, beating him over the head with the book shrieking 'traitor!'

"Pull yourself together, you wimp," he ordered himself with a harsh whimper. "You just need to-to get laid. It's a phase."

Rolling over to his back, he put his hands to his face and slid his fingers into his hair. It was a mad mess of loose curls, thick strands looping wildly however they pleased. That's what happened if he didn't do anything with it right after coming out of a shower. Standing up, he left the room with an aching feeling in his belly.

When he got downstairs, however, his dismal attitude melted. He could feel his back straightening, his chin lifting, his face going almost blank but for a vaguely amused smile. Just like that he stifled any emotion at all. It was frightfully easy. He wondered whether he and Draco might consult a therapist together.

Alex was sitting with Finbar at the kitchen table, chatting softly. There was a big, expensive looking bouquet of flowers in a vase on the table. Through the window he could see the steady drizzle coating everything outside. In the vast fields outside, the horses continued grazing without any regard for how wet they became.

"Blaise," Alex said softly, her voice croaking. "Hi. I borrowed a jumper of yours."

In which she nearly drowned, he noted, even though it was only draped around her shoulders. She looked quite horrible, her skin still unnaturally pale and her dreadlocks fluffy and sticking up in odd angles. Thanks to the shower, again.

"Hullo Blaise," Finbar said, his voice deep and normal sounding after Alex's.

"Hullo," he said, finding that his own voice was a bit rough. He sat down on the opposite side of the table. Inclining his head at the flowers, he inquired, "Yours?"

Finbar nodded, sipping his tea. His hair was wet and tied back to keep it out of his face.

"Yeah, and he got me a book, too!" Alex said, smiling happily. She held it up to show him. It was _Howl's Moving Castle_ by _Diana Wynne Jones. _She'd been wanting it for a quite a while now.

"That's nice," he said, feeling awkward. Gaze traveling back to Finbar, he found that his cousin looked mildly troubled and deep in thought. "What are you thinking about?" Blaise asked, in an effort to overcome his own inability function.

Finbar's mouth came up in a lopsided smile. "Oh, you'll see. I'm quite sure he'll visit too." With that enigmatic comment he took another swallow of his tea.

The bell rang again. None of them moved as they knew Blaise's mum would to get it.

Still with that little smile, Finbar announced, "There you go," and sat back with his arms crossed as if he was about to witness something that was undoubtedly going to be interesting.

"Greetings to you all," Darragh said as he herded Draco inside.

"Draco!" Alex exclaimed in astonishment when he came through the door and ended up in a coughing fit.

"What the hell happened to your face?" Blaise demanded roughly upon seeing the visage of his friend. It was a horrible sight; his lip was thick and a sickly purple color, in fact his whole lower face was purple and scraped up. His forehead was scattered with red specks and his left eye looked rather swollen, too.

"Oh God!" Alex breathed and clung to him when he came over to say a more personal hello.

"If you forgive me, I'm not going to kiss you," he said with a bit difficultly. "My mouth hurts like hell." But he did nuzzle her cheek and forehead and asked softly, "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Alex retorted while she was obviously not. "Draco, what happened?" She asked, holding his hand.

"Don't start to feel too sorry for him yet," Darragh said from the doorway. He leaned against the door frame casually, arms crossed over his chest. His hair was slicked back with the rain and his jeans clung to every inch of his legs. He looked as if he'd taken a plunge in the lake.

Wincing, Draco pulled away, Alex releasing him reluctantly. He gave Darragh a guilty look.

"First things first, though," Darragh said, brightening. He walking over to the table all the while dripping all over the floor. "Gifts for the beautiful lady!" He gave her a resounding kiss and handed her a gift with a huge bow on top.

Draco had zipped his backpack open and was pulling something out too. He looked wet too but at least he'd taken a drier transportation method than Darragh.

"Oh Darragh, you shouldn't have!" Alex exclaimed and kissed him vigorously on the cheek when she unpacked the DVD of The Last Unicorn.

"You are aware of my unalterable devotion to you, aren't you?" Darragh said, grinning and touching her cheek. "Especially when you're wearing a tight fitting white t-shirt and no bra."

Alex swatted at him, her cheeks burning as she covered up her chest. But he made her laugh, too, and for that Blaise was grateful to his youngest cousin.

A big, plush dinosaur of the long-necked variety was what she got from Draco. "I didn't know you'd remember it," Alex said softly and clutched the plush to her. "I love it, thanks." Very carefully she gave him a chaste kiss.

She smiled at the lot them and announced, "I think I'm going to be sick more often."

"Please don't," Blaise pleaded quite earnestly. He wasn't fond of feeling like a cracked up moron.

Alex held his hand for a moment on the table, a very personal look in her eyes. "I'll try," she said with a wry grin and released his hand.

That stupid touch alone had caused fire to curve through his belly sharply. He took a steadying breath and cut his hazel eyes towards his friend. "What happened, Draco?" he asked again, not sure he wanted to hear, judging from the dark frowns on his cousins' faces.

"Yeah, what happened, Draco?" Finbar repeated softly, in a dark teasing way, making Draco's eyes flash.

And so, haltingly, eyes glittering in humiliation, he told them. Finbar and Darragh mercilessly made him recount every minute detail of his low deed. During his story, Blaise felt his jaw go a bit slack with astonishment and not a bit of anger. 'Filthy queer', especially, made him clutch the table white-knuckled. A surge to protect Darragh made him want to punch Draco himself. Judging by the way Alex looked as though she might use the dinosaur to do something rash, Blaise was sure he was not alone with that disposition.

Afterwards, there was a long and strained silence. Alex opened her mouth several times, but ended up closing it again, while Darragh's hand on Blaise's shoulder kept him seated.

"You fought with Harry?" Alex asked, horrified.

Blaise saw Draco did not care for the way she called him by his first name.

"He hit me." Draco said, looking at his hands.

His own voice low and rough, Blaise said softly, "Filthy queer? How can you say that when-" it took him everything not to betray his friend's secret right then. He bloody deserved it. Counting to ten wasn't enough by far, so he counted to thirty. "When my cousin..." he said instead, and was equally enraged by that.

Draco failed to respond, taking a deep breath. He looked very small.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Blaise." Darragh said gently, then went on to looking smug, "I've hit him for it already. We're alright now, Draco and me."

With black eye and all, Draco looked grateful.

"You sure?" Blaise asked Darragh, looking deep into his golden eyes.

"I'm sure. We're okay," Darragh said, his face serious and belying his young years. "I understand how his wicked mind works, God help me."

"How could you?" Alex asked him. "Draco?"

"I said, I don't know," Draco exclaimed suddenly. "If I could give you a valid reason, I would! But I can't."

Darragh spoke up in that still, very serious voice of his. "Leave him alone now," he told then all and went to stand behind Draco. "He's gotten beaten up for it, detention for it, and will be scorned by the whole school for weeks to come. It was awful, but he's paid. It's done."

The whole room took a collective breath and Draco, for a moment, let his head rest gratefully against Darragh's sternum.

Blaise gathered himself, with some difficulty, looked at his friend and the wretched expression on his face. Then he let it go. He stood up and went to get ointment for Draco's wounds and bruises.

Alex got the blonde a cup of tea. Her fingers danced over the bruised spots and she shook her head a bit despairingly at him. Finbar was smiling, but nobody but he knew why. It seemed that he was aware of the whole cock-up on a far deeper and profound level. And he stared at Draco calculatingly from under his dark lashes, evidently making the latter restless.

The tension evaporated entirely when the doorbell rang once more. Yameson unexpectedly brought Dean in.

"Cool house, Blaise." He said by manner of greeting and followed that up with, "Draco, you are a complete arse, but I'm not going to waste any more breath on you. I'm here for Alex."

"Dean!" she said, her eyes wide with surprise. "You're here."

"Yeah," He said, smiling. "I kind of missed you in class today. I feel like I'm the only geek without you."

"Oh, that's nice!" Alex said with laugh, but seemed very happy and a bit flattered to have him there.

Dean walked over and handed her something, "Here, something to keep you entertained until you come back."

"Oh!" she gasped feebly when she looked at the deep pink cover of the book. It read _'Princesses oubliées ou inconnues' _and had a beautiful illustration on the front. "Oh, Dean!" she grabbed him and kissed him full on the lips.

"My pleasure," Dean said with a wide grin.

Blaise's eyes bored holes into the back of Dean's head. Instead of

pulling Alex away from Dean like he really wanted to, he simply pasted

a smile on his face and got up to bring their guest a cup of coffee.

Alex looked at the presents on the table, "But... but why? It's not my birthday or Christmas. I'm not even in the hospital!"

"You needed cheering up," Dean said.

"And for a woman you do this by showering her with presents!" Darragh concluded.

The others nodded.

"You arses," Alex said with an odd thickness in her voice. "You're going to make me cry. This is a bit over the top, but thanks. Really."

Finbar was chuckling, "Please don't. We all know how Blaise melts like putty when girls cry."

Frowning reprovingly at his cousin for exploiting his weak spot -granted it was a spot that was the size of Canada- but he should nevertheless not have to get it rubbed in. Besides he had never seen Alex cry and he was quite sure he was unable to handle any more strain on that area. He'd bend double to do everything for his sisters when they cried, and that happened on frequent basis. If Alex cried he though he might just lose every last shred of dignity completely.

They were drinking their beverages when his two youngest sisters drifted in, Jinx hugging Alex and fussing over her while April imperiously demanded to sit on Dean's lap again. She'd apparently taken a shine to him.

Blaise liked how he treated her and forgave him for using his boyish charms on Alex.

There was light-hearted conversation after that and Blaise felt his shoulders lose some tenseness. He wanted to talk to Draco, but his friend wouldn't even let him catch his eye. The only thing he did was touch the tip of his tongue to the cut, or drag his upper teeth across it, brooding.

For the third time that evening, something rang shrilly, but it was not the door's bell. Alex picked up her mobile phone.

"Hey Harry!" Alex said, causing everybody to freeze. Draco actually bit his lip and cursed with feeling.

"I'm better, thanks. You sound awful though," she cast a _look_ at her friend. Draco returned it a bit defiantly. "I heard about that. We've already chopped him up and buried him in the backyard. Yes. Gods, I can't even begin to express how sorry I am... I know, but honestly. Uh-huh. _What? _Why would I be? There's Darragh! Heavens, Harry don't be a dolt. Oh, by the way…" Her green eyes narrowed and focused on Draco as she paused.

Draco's eyes widened and he started shaking his head. The rest of them watched with morbid fascination. The expression an Alex' face was downright menacing.

"There's someone who needs to say something." she said softly, but pronouncing every syllable with great care.

Draco stood up so fast that his chair toppled over with a loud clatter. He was gesturing frantically.

"Hang on for a moment," she held up the phone towards him.

"No," Draco said desperately.

"Yes," Alex said, and she didn't look nice at all, "Now. And be polite. Apologize."

"_Alex,_" Draco said, swallowing.

"NOW!" Alex flung at him and ended up coughing miserably.

Everybody glared at Draco. He took the phone, covered it with his hand and hurried out. He held it up and in front of him as when one might do when they were holding up a bomb and it were about to explode any second. The backdoor closed with a loud bang.

--

Harry was sitting on his bed, pressing a towel wrapped in ice against his nose. He passively watched how Nyoka worked her meal of dead mice into her mouth, swallowing them whole, little lumps advancing through her body like beads on a thick string. Loud clattering, noises and crackling came through the receiver of the phone.

"Alex?" he queried, voice indistinct with the swelling.

Someone shouted on the other end and Harry frowned, but regretted the movement instantly. The cuts caused by the fragmented glass stung and his nose scrunching up made him dizzy. Broken and bent, his spectacles lay on his desk, the now empty case for his lenses beside it.

"Hello?" he tried again. More crackling and indistinct noise. "Hello, someone? Alex? Are you okay?" Wasn't Zabini supposed to have stayed home to keep an eye on her?

"_Hello?!_" he said loudly. "Anybody there? Hello? _Someone?_"

Silence.

Concentrating, squeezing the phone so hard it gave a worrying crack, Harry listened. It seemed the phone had been abandoned.

Nyoka gulped down another limp mouse under the spots of her terrarium.

About to return the phone to the cradle, Harry tried once more, a bit annoyed. "Hello?"

Nobody. Another frown had him hissing.

Wait.

Breathing. Someone was breathing rapidly. Shit. Had Alex fainted somewhere alone, the mobile lying lost on the floor with him calling out? Wasn't anyone _there_ with her?

"Can you hear me? Alex? God, are you okay?" Harry looked around for a jacket and dry shoes. His heart was beating in his throat.

He was about to get up when he heard another noise on the other end, someone swearing softly. Not Alex at all. Harry getting was sick of it.

"Hey I can _hear_ you!" He said irritably, sinking down again. He rearranged the towel a bit. "Who's there?" he demanded.

Someone sighed miserably.

"Stop wasting my time and say something or put Alex back on! Who _is _this anyway?"

"It's-"

"_What?_ Hello?" Harry asked, shaking the phone as if it would do him any good and the rest of the sentence would come flying out of it. When no answer came, he lay back on his bed, his knees dangling over the edge. He listened to the steady breathing. Then it came to him in a jolt and carefully he put the towel aside. Dread flooded him.

"Malfoy?"

"...Yeah."

"Shit." Harry said with feeling. He fantasized about throwing the telephone out the window and watching it smash into a thousand pieces on the curb. He didn't though and was at loss for words. He vindictively wanted to ask if Draco's mouth hurt as bad as his nose did but he held his tongue, wanting to be the bigger person.

"I shouldn't have bit you."

Harry let out a weird noise that was a scoff and a laugh mixed into one. "Oh really?" he said scornfully. Screw dignity. "Does your lip hurt a lot?"

"It does." He sounded a bit more aggravated now. "Does that make you happy?"

"Hmm." Harry hummed contently. He listened to Malfoy breathing some more. Fingers traced the throbbing bite-marks on his neck. "You fight like a girl, Malfoy. You even pulled out a chunk of my hair." His own voice seemed terribly calm. "Besides the head bashing part."

Malfoy chuckled, "You fight like a primitive barbarian. Mind you, your hair probably looks a lot better now. You should thank me."

Harry sighed, covering his eyes with an arm, "I don't understand you at all."

Malfoy didn't answer.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked exasperatedly.

The response didn't come and Harry found himself breathing in tandem with Malfoy. Maybe he should just chuck the phone anyway, Harry thought.

"I shouldn't have said that," Malfoy spoke suddenly.

Harry sat up again, arching an eyebrow despite the pain, "Is that an apology?"

"It's as good as you're going to get, Potter."

His teeth clenched again. "Do you mean it? Or did Alex or whoever there just force you to say that?"

"They forced me," Malfoy said evenly.

Harry readied himself to hurl the phone at the wall.

"But I really do mean it," Malfoy said in a very different voice, and hung up.

"Hey! Hello?" Harry said, "Malfoy?!"

A steady beep was what the only thing he heard and he stared in honest bewilderment at the handle. Harry sat there as it went darker with the coming of the night, wearing the blasted jumper Malfoy had lend him that one time during detention.

Sirius called for dinner and Harry gladly went to help him out, leaving his confusion and the telephone in the room behind him.

* * *

Chapter title credits go to the Rolling Stones

Thank you, Jules, for a wonderful job done on beta-ing for me! You've helped me make the chapter work and you've been a great support. Thanks.

Also, thank you everybody who's offered being a beta for me, but it was such an overwhelming response and I could only pick one of you.

Secondly, thanks for the reviews and your support, without which I wouldn't be able to plough on.

And lastly, and this might make some of you very happy: expect my website to be up between this and two weeks. The design is done, I only need to fit it into a html frame and begin adding content. One of the first items will be 'the deleted scenes' from HaH plus the old version. So check the site every few days, I ought to be able to get it up soon now!


	14. Talk

Disclaimer: I do _not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**  
Chapter Fourteen – Talk**

"_Terebokime!" - Harry Potter_

Draco trudged along the sidewalk, his eyes trained on the ground, the hood of his jumper pressing damply against his neck. It seemed incredibly ridiculous for the school to take the students for a day at the pool while it was pouring buckets outside. Nevertheless, he let his legs carry him on automatic pilot towards the bus stop.

As he walked, he let his thoughts wander over the past few days and admitted to himself that his self-confidence had gotten such an extreme pummeling lately -and not all of it thanks to Potter- that he was quite reluctant to go parading around in nothing but swimming trunks. He'd thought that after a few days he'd be able to work up his anger for Potter once more, considering that virtually the entire school seemed to have rallied together against him, but instead, he just felt numb. Frankly, what his fellow peers might think of him was the absolute least of his worries.

Alex had warned him. More than once. But he'd been so sure he'd be able to make it work somehow, and yet, all the time and work he'd put into the whole facade was prematurely coming to pieces. His father knew. Draco hadn't figured out who had been the rat, but his father had found out nevertheless. He was quite sure that last night was the second worst experience he'd gone through in his entire life. First, he'd gone barking about the brawl with Potter. That alone had been enough to merit two day's worth of terribly commentary on his every move. But yesterday...

With his connections in high places, Lucius Malfoy had managed to sap every last bit of information that was available concerning his son and Alex. Draco was sure he knew more about her than that she knew about herself. He could have done without knowing. At least Lucius had made it clear that Alex Ladon had once been dangling by a string on the lowest rung of society. And while Draco didn't particularly mind, not as he once might have, Lucius did. He minded a lot. Especially that he was still friends with her and that the elusive 'girlfriends' he'd had over the last years had all been one and the same. The one person Lucius had explicitly forbidden him to ever consort with again.

The row that had ensued had been one worthy of epic tales.

His mother had been beside herself, unable to decide which side to take. On one hand, the man she loved so very much was being unreasonable, and on the other, her only son who'd just displayed the nastiest side of him yet.

And as if that wasn't enough, Blaise was acting awful peculiar. He was being increasingly distant, not only to him, but Alex as well. He seemed far away and had taken to frowning at just about everything. Draco would have welcomed some support, but he wasn't getting anything from that quarter. Although Alex had only been back a day, she had given him all the support she had to give. But, honestly, it wasn't much. Her impromptu bout with sickness wasn't just the sudden onset of the flu. Underneath it all was stress. Alex had finally broken down and revealed a terrible secret; the orphanage had asked her to leave. With Gabriël already gone and a recent influx of new strays, the orphanage was in dire need of space. The orphanage decided that there just wasn't enough space to keep her; besides, she was nineteen and way beyond the permitted age to remain without cost. So, before Christmas, she was to be banished from the only home she knew.

Lastly, he would have been perfectly satisfied, relieved even, if Potter had been nasty to him. But no, he was acting as if nothing had ever happened. Which just made everything doubly worse.

Draco sat on the bus, soaking his seat with rainwater, brooding. The swelling on his lip had subsided, but the cut was still scabbing and apparently not in a hurry to heal. As was his habit nowadays, he touched the tip of his tongue to it, tracing the furrow back and forth again.

No, he wasn't looking forward to a nice day to the pool at all.

--

Harry and Ron stood chatting together, shoulders hunched against the rain. Around them fifth, sixth, and seventh years were gathering, waiting until everybody was assembled to be admitted inside. McGonnagal swooped by, wearing a plastic rain-cap in the customary tartan fashion, taking names.

"Harry," Ron said in an ominous sort of way. "D'you reckon, McGonnagal will be-" he swallowed thickly, "joining us?"

Harry made a face at him. "If she does I hope she'll be wearing a one-piece. Not some small tartan bikini."

"Urgh, Harry shut up right now." Ron mimed vomiting into his pack that contained his swimming gear. "I need to go and wash my brain with soap now."

"You'll have a whole pool to flush your head with in a moment, Ron. I'll even help if you like," Harry said.

"Thanks, you're a real mate," Ron said dryly, punching him playfully.

Harry knew he should feel bad about it, but the last few days had been so great that it was hard to muster even the tiniest shred of remorse. With Ron and Hermione at odds with each other at the moment, Harry and Ron had been virtually hip-to-hip all week. And if he wasn't with Ron, there was Hermione. It was like the first week of school again when both of them were first genuinely interested in him. As soon as they passed that first week, Ron and Hermione had begun to spend less and less time everyone. They'd been a fresh couple at the end of August, and with the year long friendship between them they'd both had to adjust. But over the past few weeks, they'd grown more familiar to the new relationship (barring the arguments) between them and Harry had taken a second seat.

Ron was Harry's close friend here in Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, but he hadn't been around long enough to be the same for Ron. The only other one with whom he connected with in a more profound manner, besides Ron, was Darragh. Harry sighed before shaking his head to get rid of all the thoughts milling around his brain.

A gaggle of girls passed them and began giggling madly. They continued watching them, eyelashes batting, smiling coyly over their shoulders.

"You know what," Ron said. "It's not fair."

"What?"

"That!" Ron exclaimed flapping an arm in the girls' direction. "You announce that you're gay and suddenly all the girls are fawning over you."

Harry's neck became very hot. "That's not true."

"Yes it is," Ron said, giving him an almost blaming look. "It's as if they're all suddenly making it a point to win you back. You're a challenge. And on top of that you impressed us all with beating Malfoy down a notch or two."

Looking back at the clique of tittering fifth years, not without a bit of apprehension, Harry had to admit that girls were acting different. He was used to being invisible; he'd always seemed to project anti-female waves. Part of it was probably due to his total lack of eloquence; girls stumped him completely. And they giggled. All the time. Even when there was nothing to giggle about. Harry used to have a giggle-free zone that surrounded him at all times. Now all the girls giggled at _him._

"There's Malfoy now," Ron said.

And indeed, the blonde came ambling up towards the crowd with a look that was even darker than the weather. His lip was still a bit funny looking, with a nasty ridge of scar tissue topping it off. Harry knew his green and yellow colored nose wasn't exactly appealing, and neither were the inflamed looking bite-marks on his neck. He still hadn't had his glasses replaced and had resigned to wearing his lenses until he got them back.

The blonde joined his two friends; Alex was still looking peaky and much too thin, and Zabini seemed to have gotten there purely on luck judging by his vacant expression. They all stood there, silent as mice. It was almost as if they stood together solely out of habit. Like a flock of sheep. Harry's entertaining train of thought -Malfoy with tight curls and a bell around his neck, bleating- was interrupted by the arrival of Finbar.

"Hiya Fi-" Ron began. "WHOA, I didn't know you needed glasses!"

Finbar blinked at them, and slid his spectacles further up his nose. "You didn't? Well, I've had them for as long as I could remember. I'm a bit nearsighted. I usually wear lenses though, but I've a knack for losing them in swimming pools, so I wore my glasses. Less trouble anyway."

"He looks so smart with them," Darragh piped in, petting his brother's rain-slick hair.

And he did. Then again, Harry though with a pang of jealousy, was there anything Finbar wouldn't look good in? Bloody unfair.

Darragh, with his reputation of having a nasty temperament in the morning, was squinting blearily around. He'd make a fine addition to Malfoy's clique, Harry thought; he looked every bit as ragged and tired as the three of them. And he seemed cranky to boot.

"Yeah, keep staring Corner. I might do a trick!" He sneered at a hapless Michael Corner, who was unlucky enough to pass by.

Corner cast a furtive glance at Harry and scurried away. Darragh and Harry had done nothing to dismiss the rumors that they were apparently hot and heavy together. Consequently, most guys who had previously made it a sport to make homophobic comments around Darragh had backed of in fear that Harry might come and pulverize them as well. Corner, especially, watched Harry with the look of a small rodent hiding from the big bad wolf. Of course, pummeling Malfoy might have something to do with that.

Darragh had made it a point to shout 'Get him, Harry' to just about everybody who looked at them twice, to great amusement of their friends. On top of that, he had decided that they'd needed a theme song, and when he got Harry to go along with it , they sang loudly -and rather off key- _The Bad Touch_ from _The Bloodhound Gang_.

"Hello boys," Parvati greeted them in her throaty way of hers as she joined them. "Dean here yet?"

"No, not yet," Harry said, avoiding her eyes.

Despite the awkward situation during Halloween, Parvati and Dean had decided to give dating a tentative go. Or not so tentative, if you saw them wrapping themselves around one other like octopuses and using every possible minute engaging in semi-professional tonsil-hockey. It was all rather embarrassing really; at least that was how Harry felt.

"You look nice without your glasses, Harry," she commented, looking at him from under her long lashes.

"Er, thanks," Harry said, feeling his neck grow warm again. He didn't like not wearing his spectacles; it made him feel oddly vulnerable.

Parvati's sister joined them, as dark and lovely as her sister. "Still haven't made up with Hermione?" Padma asked Ron, shrewdly.

"None of your business," Ron growled back, rain dripping down his nose. He took a step closer to Finbar, apparently attempting to shield himself.

"Touchy," Padma said, flicking her dark braid over a shoulder, splattering Ron with raindrops that flew out of the thick strands. "Never mind about _that_ then."

She turned to her twin, playfully patting Parvati's cheek, "So, excited at seeing your new boyfriend in his swimming trunks?"

Parvati arched an eyebrow and returned flatly, "Excited about seeing Mister Zabini in nothing but his swimming trunks?"

"Oh hush!" Padma blushed, glancing over at the youth in question.

Both Darragh and Finbar were frowning, evidently not sure about this open admission. Darragh especially cast a significant look at his brother as if to say 'I knew we should have brought the pesticide' and crossed his arms over his chest.

Not long after that, everybody had assembled and they were subsequently herded into the facility. Once inside, everyone began stripping off their garments in an effort to acclimate to the oppressive warmth. The pool was an enormous domed complex with a sub-tropical theme. A main pool with smaller ones annexed to it via small waterways was decorated with plants and trees, and several sorts of slides, rapids and attractions. And it was all rented just for the students of Hogwarts.

The professors gestured to the changing halls and their cubicles, with pale yellow doors and where everyone changed in the same enormous room. Yells and giggles filled the hallways of the changing cubicles with harsh echoes as everyone dashed off to find unoccupied ones.

Harry, with his new status of not-to-be-messed-with, got one with relative ease and went inside. The cubicle was narrow and he hit his elbow painfully against the door as he pulled his jumper over his head. As always, the place smelled distinctly of chlorine and wet feet.

"Harry, Harry, you naughty boy!" Someone's voice echoed from a few cubicles further down the left.

"What?" he called back.

"You _know_ what!" Darragh responded. "But don't let that stop you, though."

Rolling his eyes as everybody around them started either giggling or muttering, Harry said, accustomed to the boy's antics by now, "All right then, hands against the wall."

"You going to search me?" A short silence, then "Lower, lower, yeah, much, _much_ lower."

"I feel left out!"

"Seamus?" Harry and Darragh chorused.

"Yeah."

"All right, then, come on in."

"Have to wait your turn, though," Darragh said.

"I'll watch." Seamus called back.

All around them people were emitting scandalized noises, gossip flying wild. When Harry exited, carrying his clothing hanger, he was laughing too hard to be embarrassed. Seamus opened his door on the opposite side of the hallway, wearing trunks in a hideous shade of puce, grinning quite broadly himself.

"Oh, you were just pretending, for a moment I thought-" A girl's voice said from their left.

Harry raised his eyebrows inquiringly, daring her.

Susan Bones faltered and hurried away wearing a yellow and black two-piece, her clothes clutched to her protectively.

"To think they honestly believed that," Ron said as he came out of the cubicle right next to Harry's. "Some might _really _believe you've gone to the Dark Side, too, Seamus."

Seamus shrugged, unperturbed by how his social image might fare. "They're just jealous that I'm part of Harry's harem and they're not. On an entirely different note, though, I hope someone loses their top. I mean, _look_! Nearly every girl here is not wearing your normal one-piece." He looked blissful, eyes homing on every female that dared emerge from a cubicle in his vicinity.

"Let alone one that fits," Finbar said dryly as he joined them. His black hair lay askew from pulling his garments over his head.

The boys smiled appreciatively as they walked into the actual pool after locking their clothes away. Everywhere you looked girls were scampering around in tiny bikinis, giggling madly and looking at the boys from under their lashes. One girl Harry only vaguely recognized 'accidentally' ran straight into his chest and apologized with slightly disturbing tittering, her eyes glued to his tattoo.

Ron was scowling.

Knowingly, Harry watched Hermione walk at the edge of the pool in a simple and decent yet flattering two-piece. Her hair was a foaming mass of curls down her back. Ginny waved cheerfully at them as she walked beside her, her red hair like a shining beacon in the relative whiteness of the pool complex. She'd taken it upon herself to keep Hermione from having to wander around by her lonesome. Most of their clique were boys and consequently hang out together. And because that included Ron, Hermione pointedly avoided them though she was always pleasant when they engaged her without Ron around.

They managed to secure a table and plastic chairs for all of them. Harry draped his towel over his and carefully put the box for his lenses in the backpack Ron had taken along for such things. Dean possessed an awesome towel with the Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles on, while Darragh was humming the theme-song of Spongebob as he arranged a towel with said cartoon character emblazoned on it. Making certain their belongings were under a watchful eye, Ron, Harry and Dean set out to explore a bit. The latter seemed strangely anxious, eyes darting left and right. Harry suspected this had something to do with Parvati.

"Oh God," Ron groaned.

Dean made a strangled noise as if someone had slapped him around the face with a dead chicken.

Harry was at a loss.

Following their glazed eyes, he soon found Parvati and Padma running after each other in the knee-deep water with all sorts of interesting movements as a consequence. They splashed water; darted around one other, and laughed as they performed their strange game of tag. You had to give it to them, they were extraordinarily beautiful. All slim, tan bodies, long slender legs and big dark eyes. Harry was about to move on without his two friends when there was a loud yelp. Parvati had 'accidentally' given Padma a push so she collided straight into Blaise. Padma grabbed onto him, and Blaise, with the water hampering him, fell backwards and disappeared from view under the surface.

Padma was momentarily stunned and then made to reach for his splashing form.

"Oh, get a hold of yourself Patil!" Draco informed her witheringly, shoving her away and hoisting Blaise out of the water.

He made a rather funny sight, gasping for air and holding Draco's arm rather firmly. "Bloody hell! Can't you two see where you're going?" Blaise said hoarsely, wiping angrily at the dark hair that plastered itself persistently against his face.

Harry's brain stopped functioning properly about right then, looking at Malfoy's spare, lithe body as he waded deeper into the water. He was loudly abusing the Patil twins, glaring back at them over his shoulder. So sure, he was bony and pale, all angles and jutting hip bones, and even so he looked utterly, remarkably, attractive. His body was like alabaster even as he walked next to Zabini, who was a lovely olive sheen.

"She's a bit obvious, isn't she?" Alex said loudly as she appeared next to Harry. "Hey, _hello_?" She raised her voice and nudged him with her elbow.

"Er, what? I didn't quite catch..." Harry said, flustered.

"Never mind," Alex said, furrowing her white eyebrows at him suspiciously. "Men." she scoffed under her breath, though Harry heard her

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked defensively.

"Nothing at all," she said, shaking her head at Ron and Dean's lowered jaws as Parvati came up to her boyfriend, water-drops sliding sensuously down her body. Padma trailed behind, looking troubled. "That's my cue to leave. Better check how much pool water Blaise swallowed before he starts acting funny."

Harry, seeing that Ron and Dean were clearly not intent on moving any time soon, accompanied her.

They made a stop at their table so Harry could take out his lenses. Seamus and Neville were playing a game of snap, which Neville was losing grotesquely. Seamus stared not subtly at all at Alex's cleavage, who resorted to hiding behind Harry and looked deeply confused. The both of them set out along side the edge of the pool, looking for Malfoy and Zabini. Alex was cradling her arms over her body, looking uncomfortable.

"So, how are you feeling?" Harry asked, looking sideways at her wan face. The lingering paleness was only more apparent with her dreadlocks pulled back in a thick, dripping mass in her neck, leaving her face bare. Her skin looked a bit stretched, her cheeks hollow. It made Harry want to turn around, deposit her on a chair, tuck her in with towels and feed her his lunch.

Alex jerked one shoulder, "Stomach's still acting a bit dodgy. Other than that, I'm fine."

"You're a bit skinny," Harry pointed out, looking at her ribs and knobby shoulders.

"Bit rich coming from you," Alex returned easily, smiling a bit. Coming to a halt at the edge of the pool and sitting down, she dipped her legs in the water. "Oi, Blaise!"

Treading water, Blaise turned around and looked up at them. "Hello Potter," he said calmly. His hair was surprisingly long wet. It looped randomly around his face, ending low in a curling mass in the nape of his neck.

"Hullo," Harry said, blinking against the general blurriness of the world without anything to aid his eyes. Zabini was just a bit too far to clearly make out his expression. Then again, Zabini could hold up a perfectly blank face with the best of them.

Alex let herself slide in the water and swam over to Blaise, splashing him a little. "Where's Draco?" she asked, green eyes casting around.

Inclining his head, Blaise indicated Harry.

As if on cue, a voice said quite suddenly, so close to Harry's ear he could feel the warm exhale of air waft against his skin, "How about moving any time soon, Potter?" And with that, Draco put a hand between Harry's shoulder-blades and gave him a firm push that sent Harry went pin-wheeling into the pool with a mighty splash.

He came up, drawing in a screaming breath for air. "Are you mad, Malfoy?" he demanded shrilly as Malfoy stood cackling that maniacal laugh of his, dry by the poolside.

The only answer he got was more water crashing over him as Malfoy dived sloppily in the water. He came up a little a ways from them, blinking water out of his eyes. "Lost your little friends?" he asked a bit snidely. His blonde tresses, heavy with water, brushed the tip of his sharp nose.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him and retorted sweetly, "How's your lip?"

"About as good as your nose," Malfoy answered in his unhurried drawl, "and your neck."

"Children, children!" Blaise exclaimed swimming expertly in between them, "Behave," He flicked water at the both of them. With one last significant look, he began leading them to the main pool through one of the narrow connections.

Glowering, Harry followed him, wondering if it would really be such a big deal if he just gave in to his heart's desire and drowned Malfoy. His toes touched the bottom and he stood back up again, wading in water that soon only reached up to the elastic of his swimming shorts. Malfoy's white blonde hair touched the top of his spine wet, smoothly slicked back against his skull. And despite having just had a fantasy murdering him, Harry found his brain warping the drowning scene into something much more... intense in a not-so deadly way. Especially since the wading was causing Malfoy's backside and whole lower body to work against the friction of the water. Even being as thin as he was, Malfoy's body was toned and strong, and he carried himself as if the world should be glad he had graced it with his presence. That alone, even with all the tiny imperfections, made him somehow impossibly irresistible to Harry.

They reached the main pool, where the rest of their friends already were caught up in various activities. Neville stood to the side, looking uncomfortable and a bit dejected. Most of their clique were either slim and lean, or -mainly in Finbar's occasion- nicely toned. Neville, well, he was a bit chubby. And it didn't help that some fifth and sixth year girls glanced furtively at him and began giggling. Worse still were the boys who muttered none too subtly 'pig' and 'fatty' when they passed him.

Harry, who liked Neville well enough, even though the latter was in a constant state of fretfulness, felt his righteous rage come up around him like a cloak. Abandoning the others, he floated over and asked Neville whether he to join him in tossing the ball around. He glared at the other kids through his black tresses as menacingly as he could.

Soon they were joined by Seamus and Darragh, and making up the rules as they went along, they paired up and began smacking the ball at each other as hard as possible. They cheered Neville on when he accidentally hit Malfoy on the back of the head, which caused the blonde to snort water up through his nose.

"Want a set of bite marks on the other side of your neck to match the first?" He snarled at Harry, knowing that Harry was the one to setup the game in the first place, coughing water.

Harry glowered back at him, unable to form a witty comeback.

Darragh came up with one for him, though upon retrospect Harry rather wished he'd kept his mouth shut. "Just admit that Harry's tasty, Draco. Clearly you can't get enough of him."

Malfoy made a sound like a dying fish, tried to sneer at them, and spluttered some more. Eventually he made a sound like 'arugh' and waded away as fast as possible. Which wasn't fast at all.

"Rendered him speechless, you did," Neville said. "That's a first."

"I can outthink him any day," Darragh said with a smirk. Winking at Harry he smacked the ball back up in the air.

Soon after they began playing again, the speakers chimed the familiar tune that hailed the stimulation of waves in the main pool. Everybody stopped what they were doing and got out or tried to find a better spot. Harry and Ron quickly swam to the deep end, where the waves became highest. As they arrived, Harry saw how Hermione watched their approach with a stony face before pointedly swimming in the opposite direction. Ron watched her go with a wretched expression.

The first small waves began lapping at their torsos as the waves began. Despite his better judgment, Harry asked, "Want to talk about it?"

Ron blinked at him as if from coming far away. "What?" he asked.

"Want to talk about it?" Harry asked again, hoping he had a stroke of geniality and manage to give good feedback.

"Oh," Ron said, looking awkward. "Well, I don't know." He stared in Hermione's direction again. "You know, I think I did something wrong, but I'm not sure what."

"Er," Harry said intelligently, "maybe you should ask her."

Ron rubbed at his nose to avoid meeting Harry's eyes. "I think she'll be even angrier when she finds out I haven't got a clue what went wrong."

"Ah, eh, well, that's a bit of a problem then," Harry conceded, faltering.

There was a slight pause before they met each other's gaze and spontaneously burst out laughing.

"Oh hell, I'm sorry," Harry gasped. "I really am rubbish at this sort of conversations."

Shaking his head, Ron retorted with a broad grin, "That's alright, it was funny while it lasted."

They laughed a bit more as the waves grew stronger, carrying them upwards with each cadence. At one point, Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein crashed into them as they were pulled towards them with an incoming wave. Harry had to hold mightily onto the side support to avoid getting a mouthful of water. When they finally managed to untangle themselves and were left alone -Terry smiled apologetically at Harry before he left- it was Ron's turn to look ill at ease.

"So, are _you_ okay?"

Frantically, Harry tried to recall whether he'd been staring at Malfoy when Ron could have seen. "Uhm, I-I think so, why?" he said not so smoothly.

"With the whole school, knowing, well _it_." He stressed the last significantly.

"Oh," Harry felt the cold in his insides vaporize with his imminent relief, "Oh, _that_. No, no problem at all."

"That's good then," Ron said, obviously relieved to avoid a heart-to-heart conversation about fears and feelings.

They bobbed along on the waves in comfortable silence, grinning a bit when watching how Dean lifted a madly squealing Parvati above his head and threw her into the water.

--

Meanwhile Alex and Blaise were laughing so hard they were tears involved. Draco knew he shouldn't have told them about the incident that had just occurred. It made him feel mortified for reasons he couldn't even begin to explain.

Draco was casting venomous glances all around. "I don't think it was amusing." He muttered. "Darragh needs a good talking to, he does. Doesn't think straight that boy." He looked imploringly at Blaise, who was, after all, the little cretin's cousin. Maybe he could talk some sense into him. And convince him to keep his great big mouth from uttering such preposterous blasphemy.

"Yes, continue to laugh with my pain. First the barbarians nearly murder me and you laugh, the whole school is plotting against me, you laugh, your cousin begins uttering nonsense on my behalf and still, you laugh! I think my suffering merits some consolation here," he told them in an aggrieved manner.

But then Alex' coughing transformed into a bout of more horrible coughing and Draco quite forgot to wallow in his humiliation. He led her away to the outdoor pool in hopes that the air was a bit easier on her there. They ducked under the plastic flaps that formed the barrier to keep out most of the cold draft and inhaled the very welcome fresh air. As hacking dwindled to gasping and eventually to just laborious breathing, Draco asked softly, "Have you told him?" and flicked his eyes significantly to Blaise.

Just as she began to shake her head in denial, Blaise turned to them with an unnerving expression on his face. "Told me what?" He looked strange with his permanent tan stark against the blue pool while the rain persisted in drizzling softly. Wind blasted his wet curls in all directions.

Alex gave Draco a betrayed look, who shrugged his shoulders in mute apology. Clearly she'd wanted to keep the whole orphanage thing between the two of them. It wasn't his fault that Blaise possessed supernatural hearing.

Looking cornered, Alex began hesitantly, almost defensively. "I didn't want to tell you because you'd throw a fit..." she mumbled wringing her hands.

Blaise's eyes narrowed even more, looking suspiciously from Draco to Alex and back. "Well, what then?" he demanded, voice brittle.

Giving Draco an accusing look again, she began in a soft voice, "Well, with Gloves gone and more children having moved in, the orphanage needs more space and they've askedmetoleave." The last words came out in a rush as if to avoid the impending disastrous results she knew they were going to have.

"WHAT?" Blaise yelled, causing several heads to snap around to him at once. It seemed he himself was startled by this outburst and he took a few deep calming breaths. "They asked you to leave?" He resumed in a dangerous sort of calm voice.

"Not immediately, of course," Alex hastened to correct. "But by Christmas."

"By Christmas," Blaise said, eyes bright in a wicked sort of way. "Oh, that's _so_ nice of them. That gives you exactly _two_ months. How generous of them, my opinion of those morons skyrockets! And such timing too; _Christmas_, time of family and benevolence. 'Happy Christmas, dear, don't mind the snow, it's not as cold as it looks!'. How can they- the incorrigible stupidity of some people! They should feed them to the reindeer's young! Not to mention-"

Draco was acutely reminded why Blaise and he got along in the first place.

Alex was frantic, "Oh please, Blaise, don't!" she pleaded, tugging at his arm, "I've lived off their kindness long enough-"

"DON'T," Blaise said sharply, "don't start talking that way as if it's nothing. You do deserve to live without worrying every step of the way."

"I-I-" Alex faltered, looking at Draco for support.

"He's right you know," the blonde said simply. "Don't look at me like that," he added.

The three of them stood there breathing laboriously in the outdoor air. Alex was almost completely shrouded by the mist that drifted up from the warm water. She looked small and miserable. Blaise got that peculiar look on his face again, as if he had a severe stomach ache, and proceeded in a more reasonable tone, "Where are you going to go?"

Alex made a movement that might have been a shrug if she hadn't been hugging herself. "Don't know yet. But in the worst case I might ask Rufus if I can stay over for a bit, just until, until-"

"-you've found a place to stay." Blaise finished softly for her, "You know, you can always-"

"No!" Alex stopped him, "I won't! Don't ask! I won't risk our- our- because of-"

"Shut up and listen," Blaise said sourly. "I'm not telling to come and live with us but for once, be practical; if you can't find anything, you'll stay with us until you've found a place to stay. No, keep quiet. Promise me, Alex. Promise me you're not going to do something stupid and that in the worst case you'll stay with us until you've found something. Promise."

"I-I," she spluttered, looking at the ever-moving surface, her own reflection pulling faces at her, "I'm not sure I-"

"Please,"

"I'll think about it, okay?" And with that she began swimming away from them.

Blaise watched he go, making wringing motions with his hands. Draco prepared for another outburst.

He was not disappointed.

"For the love of God! Can that stupid girl be anymore stubborn?" Blaise exploded. "We should chain her to the wall and keep twenty-four seven surveillance on her because her own idiocy will be her undoing, mark my words! Even gerbils transcend her reasonability! What is she going to do? Sleep in the snow? I'm telling you she's a stickler for playing the self-righteous martyr and it's driving me insane!"

"I can tell," Draco replied dryly.

"Argh!" Blaise seemed to have given in to gibberish now. He hit the water violently with both fists as if by doing so he would be able to release himself of his anger.

"Okay, crazy man, enough of that. No more pool water for you," Draco soothed, taking his shoulder and steering him to a more private corner of the pool, away from prying eyes.

All the energy seemed to rush out of Blaise and he let himself be directed docilely. "How can you make jokes about something like this?" He asked, glaring at Draco.

"Stop over-dramatizing the situation, Zabini," said Draco, a bit annoyed. "It's not the end of the world. She's a strong girl, though so stubborn it borders on stupidity, true, but she'll find a place. There's Rufus, and there's you. It's not like _we'll let_ her do something stupid. And if the worst comes about, we'll simply lock her away in a basement for her own good. There are possibilities."

Blaise smiled reluctantly at him. In fact it was more of a rather frightening grimace, but it would do.

Slowly but surely, balance was going to be restored to his world. Draco felt himself able to breathe a little easier. They would work it out.

And then Blaise went ahead and smashed it all apart by saying;

"I think I'm in love with her."

Draco felt his stomach drop to the bottom of the pool. With a look of abject horror, he turned to look at his friend. Clearing his throat with difficulty, he asked almost politely, "Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said," Blaise whispered, looking inexplicably angry.

"No," Draco said. He began shaking his head.

"Yes."

"No, no, no!" Draco snarled at him angrily, face transforming into a grotesque mask, one filled with fury. "Don't you dare- _dare_ ruin everything now! Can't you be bloody satisfied with how it is now? How can do something as egoistically stupid as thinking you like her? Dammit, Blaise!"

The expression on Blaise's face made him feel torturous and Draco knew he should get away, right this instant, before he said something he would regret later. Even now, with his emotions bubbling up and stifling him, he had the sense to avoid reenacting another brawl, with his closest friend this time. It would permanently damage something between them if he goaded Blaise into punching him. It took every bit of restraint he had to keep from spouting copious amounts of foul commentary on his friend's behalf. "I can't- I-" he threw Blaise a tormented look, "I'm going!" And he did just that.

--

"Gather around a bit more closely," hollered Professor Sinistra, who didn't look all that bad in her black bathing suit, even if she was close to forty. "Right, that's better. Now we're going to do a small competition. Find a partner and make sure that you both can lift the other of the ground. Found one? Perfect. Now, we're going to do a bit of wrestling. But, to make it extra difficult, you will be sitting on your partner's shoulders, as will your opponent and will attempt to push the other into the water. Got that?"

Giggles and annoyed muttering were heard all over.

Harry was one of those that muttered, for he found this more than a bit lame. It was a situation bound to lead to humiliation on his part. Besides, what were they getting at? Sitting almost naked on a person's shoulders who was almost as naked as you. That ensured an awful lot of bare skin touching bare skin. Harry shuddered convulsively as he thought of Gregory Goyle and edged over to Ron.

"Now first try and lift your partner up onto your shoulders!"

Soon enough Harry and Ron discovered they had a problem. While Ron could lift Harry, Harry couldn't lift Ron. Ron was so ridiculously tall he inevitably disturbed the balance and send Harry toppling backwards. They got as far as Ron sitting on Harry's shoulders, but when he straightened up it took but five seconds for them to fall over and crash into the water. When Ron accidentally took a chunk of Harry's hair during their latest attempt, they gave up.

Sinistra came over and set about to pairing them up with someone more suitable. Harry rubbed his head where the hair was now noticeably shorter. Soon enough Ron was paired with Seamus, both of them tall and lanky. Harry sensed impending disaster and felt a strange mix between relief and disappointment when he spotted Draco parading around Justin Finch-Fletchley on his shoulders.

"Is there anyone who would like to pair up with Mister Potter here?" Sinistra queried in her loud voice.

And as they were supposed to be same-sex pairings, nobody volunteered. Probably afraid that his sexual preference was contractible or that as a raging homosexual sex fiend he wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself. Right now, he hated school. Hoping that he would just be allowed to sit to the side, Harry tried to slink away.

"I don't mind," someone spoke up unexpectedly.

Partly happy that there was at least someone who knew better than running along with the clichés, Harry walked towards his partner.

"Hi," Terry Boot said, smiling a bit crookedly.

"Er," Harry said, awkward. "Hi. So, I suppose we'll try this?"

On their third try, Terry managed to keep Harry on his shoulders without swallowing a mouthful of water. Harry was enormously uncomfortable. Terry wasn't Ron and touching someone wearing nothing but swimming trunks unnerved Harry immensely. For once he would've appreciated getting a girl as his partner. Never mind the giggling.

"Okay," Harry said when he was safely put on his own feet. Now it was his turn to attempt and hoist Terry up. "Try not to lean backwards too much," he advised. Letting himself sink under the water, he felt for Terry's calves, swam between them and braced himself. His head came through the surface with a gasp. In an instant Terry's legs tightened around his ribcage with surprising strength as he tried to keep himself upright.

"Ow! Terry! Terry! Don't squeeze that hard!" he exclaimed, voice strangled.

"Sorry!" Terry slackened his killing grip with his thighs and Harry found himself able to breathe again. "Okay, we're standing." Terry ventured, putting his hands prudently on the top of Harry's head. Both of them were about the same built and height and Harry found he could keep Terry up with relative ease.

Everybody paired up with a suitable partner, Sinistra began orchestrating them into small matches, girls against girls and boys against boys. Very likely this was to avoid wandering hands and resulting dramas.

Watching people try and yank each other into the water proved to be excellent entertainment. The girls, especially, made an art of it and received catcalls. Boys tended to keep it brief and to the point, going straight for the offense with brute strength to aid them.

They were all taken aback when it was Draco and Justin versus Blaise and Darragh. The two friends were carriers this round and while Justin and Darragh tried to pull each other off with a generous amount of laughter, Draco and Blaise pitted their strength against each other rather viciously. They didn't fight exactly, but they weren't being nice either. Harry was quite sure that they shouldn't be using their elbows to jab each other in all the vulnerable spots.

"What are you two doing?" Alex exclaimed roughly, after Darragh had overpowered Justin and Draco and Blaise stood breathing hard at each other, "Are you two mental?"

Draco withered at her, one matched by Blaise. Both expressions clearly said 'and what are you going to do about it?' Draco's lip was bleeding again.

"Have you two been fighting?" She demanded shrewdly. "Answer me!" Both boys maintained their stony silence. "Gah! Fine!" She spat and stomped off, water foaming in her wake, leaving the two of them to stew.

Harry pondered over this exchange, wondering what would've put the three of them in such a state of animosity. Malfoy looked wretched when Zabini shot him a murderous glare and then pointedly turned his back on him. But he had to push it to the back of his head when he and Terry were up against Stephen Cornfoot and Theodore Nott.

The both of them didn't do to bad, actually. Especially when Terry was the one on Harry's shoulders; he had a sneaky way of tickling people into submission. Harry thought that was rather clever since neither of them were that physically impressive. This was probably why they were so easily defeated by Finbar and Cormac McLaggen.

Now there was an unholy alliance. McLaggen kept shouting advice to Finbar, not concentrating on what he was supposed to do and Finbar eventually resorted to using McLaggen as a human baseball bat to knock Terry of Harry's shoulders.

"God Terry, are you okay?" Finbar asked worriedly, lifting him bodily out of the water.

Spluttering water, Terry managed to nod, clutching his ribs.

Harry himself had gotten McLaggen's elbow in the throat and had trouble swallowing. Still coughing a little himself, Terry asked him anxiously, "Okay, Harry?" Giving Terry a bleary thumbs-up, Harry continued attempting to swallow past the painful sensation. "Ah, alright then. Er. It was-it was nice being your partner." Terry said softly.

Making a motion that might have signaled agreement, Harry wondered why Terry was looking so peculiarly at him. What did he want? For Harry to be eternally happy to Terry for braving his predatorily homosexual lustful assaults? "Yeah," he managed to wheeze and was a bit relieved to see him walk over to Anthony Goldstein.

After that there was volleyball, for which Harry felt he could breathe a little easier now that he was not required to touch other people (who were nearly naked) against his will. He liked his personal space, thank you very much. Besides, Harry was much better at ball sports. Every game Ron and he played together was rewarded with victory. Most of the early afternoon was spend playing games and sports and by the time they got a pause, Harry was ravenous.

"Had a good time with McLaggen?" Ron asked Finbar, grinning around a mouthful of marmalade sandwich.

"Don't even mention it," Finbar warned him, glowering. Then he turned to Harry, "Sorry 'bout that, actually. I had no idea it would have such an impact."

Harry swallowed a bite of apple and said, still a bit hoarse, "You nearly _threw_ McLaggen at us, what did you expect?"

Sheepish, Finbar smiled apologetically at him. It seemed he was one of those people who tanned nicely in the summer and went almost white in the winter. His dark hair and dark tribal set his pallor in even more so. He'd have looked positively menacing if he didn't smile all the time.

"Looked cool, though," Darragh commented "Didn't look all that confident when he went flying. But you really did nearly murder Terry."

"Say," Dean spoke up, sharing his plastic seat with Parvati, "How come you got Blaise?"

Looking uncomfortable, Darragh retorted evasively, "He's my cousin, after all, so it's not that odd."

"Draco and Blaise had fight," Parvati put in. "Padma heard them yelling in the outdoor pool. Didn't catch what it was about, though."

"I'm sure it was none of your business," Darragh said defensively, apparently set on offering his cousin what protection he could.

Sniffing at Darragh's frank opinion, Parvati turned and continued to feed Dean her tongue for lunch.

Rolling eyes at each other, Harry and Ron set off to get a can of soda out of the vending machine. Harry put on his jumper as goose-bumps erupted all over his skin. Ron wrapped himself in a towel so it looked as if he were a flashy imitation of Batman. They padded around the poolside barefooted before Ron said, "I don't really like Parvati."

Harry grinned, "You don't? I could swear that her lack of charming personality wasn't what stumped you earlier."

Ron swiped at him, "Oh shut up. So she's hot, but she's awfully-"

"Annoying? Nosy? With no sense of privacy?"

"Yeah, all that and more." He said darkly. Harry knew what he meant; Parvati had a knack for turning a comfortable conversation into something awkward, like just now. She didn't seem to grasp the fact that boys did not try and invade something that touched upon the more sensitive of emotions. When a bloke had a problem you either let him sort it out yourself or wait for him to tell you. Then you really had to be comfortable with each other so you might ask in a roundabout way whether there was something you could do to help out.

"Do you think Dean is. er. serious about her?" Harry wondered in a hushed tone.

Ron snickered, "About getting into that tiny bikini of hers maybe. It's not like they've been exactly close before. Besides, I know that she has a strong dislike for Seamus and he's Dean closest mate, so it won't take very long for the bomb to burst, I'd say. A few months, tops."

What went unspoken was that they already felt the difference in Seamus' behavior, who was a bit at loss now that his best friend took to frantic displays of snogging in public.

By-going Seamus' obvious hurt, Harry said, "Maybe we should look for a girlfriend for Seamus, too. Padma, maybe; she looks like she could use some love."

"A good meal, is more like it. The hungry expression with which she stares at Zabini gives me nightmares, if you ask me," Ron said pulling a face as if he'd tasted something vulgar.

"Hmm, you're right. And Seamus is all skin and bones, so that won't do." he pretended to think very earnestly. "We could feed McLaggen to Padma. Nobody'll miss him."

"Now _that_ is a solution," Ron said, marveling at the brilliance of this plan.

Ron inserted his coins into the vending machine and fished a can of lemonade out of the deposit just as Malfoy came sauntering towards them. He was counting coins on the palm of his hand, probably for a cup of coffee.

"See you," Ron mumbled and rushed away before Malfoy could make any more inquiries about the stagnant state of his relationship.

Yes, thank you, Ron, Harry though as he was now left alone with the blonde prat. And he'd done such a marvelous job of avoiding being alone with him.

Malfoy looked up and physically jumped when he saw Harry standing there, contemplating the choice of beverages. There was a tense silence and instead of pretending that he couldn't see Harry, Malfoy rounded on him and gave him a very obvious look up and down. Harry fidgeted and continued to stare ahead as if he were blind at the right side.

"Nice jumper, Potter," Malfoy said, a smirk chasing around his mouth.

"What," Harry said, "What do you- oh. Oh no." He croaked, realizing what Malfoy was getting at. He was wearing _that_ jumper. Malfoy's jumper.

"Oh yes," Malfoy said, a wicked grin on his face Harry wished to beat off once more. "So happy to see you wearing something that does not instantly make people want to throw themselves under the next passing vehicle."

Harry glowered at the illuminated buttons. "You want it back?" he ground out with great difficulty. It was either that, or hit him again.

Waving a hand, Malfoy loftily said, "No, you can keep it. I don't mind donating something for the needy every once and now. Besides, you are obviously struggling with stalker tendencies. Clearly they are outing themselves in two manners; one in which you fulfill these urges with violent acts upon my person and the other by hoarding personal items of mine in which you probably roll around in when nobody can see you. But that's alright. You're not the first unable to withstand my manly glory."

Staring at him slack-jawed, Harry said carefully, as if to avoid inspiring him into more odd gibberish, "You're weird, Malfoy."

Lifting his eyebrows haughtily, Malfoy said, "It's not my fault you've never been able to comprehend me due to your tiny, undeveloped brain."

"Thank God for that," Harry muttered, "Besides, manly glory? You're about as manly as Colin Creevely-"

"Careful Potter, you should not finish that sentence," Malfoy said, eyes flashing, "Otherwise prepare for pain. Bah, Creevely. Hate hate hate."

Harry shook his head and pushed the button for apple juice.

"Kid should be allowed out in anything but swimming trunks," Malfoy went on and proceeded with a surprisingly good impression of Colin playing volleyball and subsequently losing his trunks in the process.

Entirely against his own will, Harry's mouth twitched. He was therefore altogether pleased when Malfoy gulped down his coffee too fast and ended up howling in pain.

Nevertheless, when he walked back to his friends, he was still smiling.

--

It was almost time for them to leave when Harry found himself in the company of Hermione and Ginny in the jacuzzi. Most boys that spotted them gave Harry a look of deepest resentment. Unfair that the queer kid got to sit in the hot tubs with two of the female sort. Harry didn't think himself so enviable at the moment; the conversation was deeply unsettling him.

"It's unbelievable how Dean has let himself by hoodwinked by that vile hussy-" Ginny was ranting in outrage.

Harry felt he should at least say something. "They seem to like each other."

"Of course he does! With her wriggling around in his lap as if she's eaten a whole bowl of worms! She's just using him because she can't have Roger Davies." Ginny growled savagely. "She knows she's pretty and happily goes about rubbing herself against the first hapless male victim like a cat in heat!"

He might not be very fond of Parvati, but surely she wasn't that bad. Tentatively Harry said, "I don't think she's using Dean really, they-"

Ginny rounded on him and Harry resisted the urge to dive behind Hermione, "Oh, of course you're protecting her, too. She's been doing her slinky little moves on your lap-"

"Ginny, calm down!" Harry implored, raising his voice, covering his ears to avoid hearing more obscenities which filled his head with disturbing images.

Tirade halted, Ginny flushed pink all the way to her ears. Sliding deeper into the water, she bit her lip and avoided looking at all of them.

"So it's like, er," Harry glanced at Hermione, hoping for clues, "so it's like that, is it?"

"No!" Ginny snapped, springing up again and sending a small tsunami over Harry. "I'm sure I don't care at all. She can have him! Bah." She slunk down again, only the top of her red hair visible through the bubbles.

You'd think that redheads and their supposed violate tempers were a cliché, but Ginny was bearing shining tribute to it.

"She'll tire of him soon enough," Hermione said consolingly, "For all her looks, Parvati isn't quite Dean's type, I reckon. A bit of a feather-head, really." She disapproved of the fluffy pink flamingo pen Parvati used in math class and the furtive giggling that carried all the way to the front.

Profoundly confused, Harry wondered if all girls' conversations were like this; behind the subject's back, laden with gossip and ten times as worse then what boys usually said to one other face to face. And did they have to be so frank? He never wanted to find out what they were saying about him when he wasn't around to hear it. Ignorance was definitely bliss.

With Ginny fuming in silence and glaring at the object of her wrath who happened to mince by, Hermione turned to Harry. "I saw how Finbar beat you by throwing McLaggen around. It was sort of funny to see him fly and bowl the both of you over."

"Didn't feel very funny to me," Harry mumbled, touching his throat. "I saw my whole life flashing past my eyes."

"I'm sure," Hermione said with an indulgent smile.

The bubbles ended and the three of them got out. Harry was about to carry on to the slides again when he gave in to an impulse and asked, "Hermione, can't you-"

"NO!" said Hermione and stormed away.

Ginny gave Harry a wry and apologetic look and hurried after.

Women, Harry thought exasperated, how were they ever supposed to understand what they wanted? With their incomprehensible needs and complex behavior. Still a bit flustered, Harry took the first steps down into one of the smaller pools. It was virtually abandoned as the waves were active in the main pool again. A shiver ran up and down his spine as the water was considerably colder than that of the jacuzzi.

Following the curve of the narrow way, which mouthed into a bath with herbal scents, Harry passed under a bridge. At the other side, sitting on the edge with his lower legs submerged, was Terry Boot. Alone. There was a frown on his face as if his thoughts were presenting him with and unsolvable riddle. When he saw Harry approaching he went considerably paler, but slipped into the water.

"Harry," Terry said.

"Er,Terry," Harry returned suspiciously, but continued on, "you alright? Or did McLaggen hit you a bit too hard?"

"I'm fine," he said and glanced up at him. Terry Boot was the kind of boy who looked 'pretty' instead of handsome. He had angelic blonde curling hair and big blue eyes.

"Eh, okay then," Harry said, a bit worried and made to walk on. The water wasn't getting any warmer so he needed to move.

He had just passed Terry when the latter spoke up again, "Harry, wait-"

"What-" Harry began, but started with a shock that hit the inside of his belly as he found Terry rather close to him. Big blue eyes boring into his, he stepped back and hit the cold tiles of the side.

"I need to tell you something," Terry said softly.

"What-" Harry said again, frantic, but he was cut of by Terry's soft, warm lips on his. Harry froze, hands still up in a warding motion, but suddenly unable to do anything at all. Terry's hands were in his hair, gentle and tender. They slid down, cupping Harry's face.

Then he pulled back and produced a shaky smile. "I'd never though you'd... But then last week, I was- I was so relieved." He let out a little laugh, looking at Harry with an awed expression.

Harry was vaguely surprised the water around him hadn't stared boiling by now. He still stood there, hands up in the air, unable to breathe. He should say something.

"I hoped," Terry said, strained, "I'd hoped that'd you'd-" he faltered.

Dear God, he should really say something now. He saw how Terry's glowing expression changed. How he closed his eyes as if in pain. He should do something soon now, but no answers came to Harry and he felt his own eyes widen in panic.

"But you don't," Terry said hoarsely, stepping back, "You don't. Oh, fuck."

"I'm sorry," Harry managed. And how terrible inadequate it sounded. He began backing away and momentarily hated himself for his cowardice as he struggled through the water back the way he came as fast as he could.

--

Draco strode about on his own, wracking his brain on what to do about Blaise and Alex and his Father and everything, leaving him deeply frustrated and feeling resentful. Resentful to his Father for making him do this, to Alex for being ridiculous, and to Blaise for deciding today, of all days, to fall from grace.

But Blaise, why, oh why now? After all this time? Didn't he see that he was about to shatter the friendship they had? Shatter it and bond with Alex in a manner so Draco would never be able to belong again. In one stroke he'd take away not only her, but himself, too, as Draco's best and only mate. He failed to dredge up even one shred of happiness for the two of them and was ineffective in discovering answers.

For now he could not see beyond his own pain and fear and the underlying knowledge that he was going to be alone soon once more. And now he knew that there was no way he could stop it, for he'd seen the look in Blaise's eyes, a desperate, wild look. He'd seen it coming, but had shielded himself from acknowledging it, Alex's blushes every time Blaise touched her, and the fierce look on Blaise's face when he watched her. He knew he must salvage it by apologizing to his friend soon, but just for today, he would like to be angry and hurt.

So there he was, brooding, minding his own business, when for the umpteenth he was barreled over by Harry Potter. He had come to recognize Potter's style of colliding with him by the sheer force of impact and how Potter's forehead always banged against his nose. They both went down, Draco on one knee, but Potter slipped, fell on his side with a sickening thump, and rolled into the pool with a resounding splash.

Draco was on his feet and in the pool before his mind caught up with the situation. He fished for Potter's arm and pulled him up. "Are you alright?" He demanded.

Potter responded to his heroic act by coughing water into his face.

Releasing him, Draco exclaimed, vexed, "For once, Potter, try to get it into your stupid fat head! You can't run around like a beheaded chicken! What's wrong with you!?"

"Terebokime!" He spluttered, looking around maniacally.

"Teboki-what?" Draco repeated.

"TerryBootkissedme! Oh shit!" he buried his face in his hands. He swore again and peered at Draco through his fingers as if he could not believe that he had just said this, to Draco Malfoy, of all people. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Frowning, Draco tried to decipher this cryptic message of insanity. He felt himself become a bit unhinged as the meaning became clear to him. "_What?_"

Potter proceeded to look miserable and contemplated drowning in the pool.

"Boot," Draco echoed in a voice that was just at tad too high. "Boot kissed you. Terry Boot? Curly blonde haired Boot? _Him?_"

Potter nodded, hiding his face in his hands again.

"Where? Where is he?" he breathed, thinking about blood. "_Where?_"

"I-I er," Potter muttered, flapping his hand vaguely in the direction he'd come from. "I ran away."

"Boot kissed-" Draco halted. "You ran away?"

Again, a miserable jerk of his head.

And just like that he was overcome with mad, gleeful cackling. Potter had the bearing to look indignant.

"It's not funny!" he said gruffly.

"H-how very tactful, Potter!" Draco managed between laughter. "D-do you re-reckon he got the message?"

Blushing now, Potter said, "Stop laughing. He looked really sad."

"NO?" Draco exclaimed. "Maybe because, let me see, you _ran_ away?"

"Oh shit, shit," Potter was saying again. "It was- he just sort of grabbed me all of a sudden -stop laughing, Malfoy- I was startled!"

But Draco had to laugh so hard at the word 'grabbed' that he was unable to speak for quite a while. "Grab-grab-" he hiccoughed. Not sure why he seemed to have to keep laughing besides being quite certain something bad would happen otherwise, Draco continued on with his hysterical cackling until he lacked the breath to do so anymore.

"If you're going to be a bastard about this, Malfoy-" Potter had his arms crossed defensively over his chest, "I swear- I swear! And please don't tell anyone! Shit, I can't believe I told you! _You!_ Oh God." He resorted to pulling at his hair.

"Not tell? Not tell? Anyone?" Draco asked, aghast. "But this too good not to-" seeing the look on Potter's face, one that did not bode well, he dwindled to a stop.

Only to come up with; "Hahah, so, ha, was he a good kisser?" With Potter's outraged expression he began laughing yet again, getting a stitch in his side that made it a rather painful sensation.

"Oh, do us all a favor and just drown yourself!" Potter said, glaring. But then he smiled a bit and continued, "Besides I was too busy panicking to really enjoy it."

"Sure you were," Draco said skeptically. "What did he say?"

Potter looked red and desperately uncomfortable, his black hair a right mess, green eyes wide, and Christmas had certainly come early for Draco. "Something like 'I need to tell you something' and grabbing and kissing and let us never, ever speak of this again!"

"Don't count on it," Draco warned, making a quiet sound of glee, "But as I am gentlemen before all the rest, I'll behave. For now."

"Like I'd believe that"

"Oh, Potter, you know you'd rather have me bad." His laughter coming with renewed vigor.

"I rather have you being a good b- Bloody hell, Malfoy shut up!" Harry croaked, catching himself just in time before he could finish that disastrous sentence.

Malfoy continued cackling to himself, even when the speakers announced 'if all the Hogwarts students would please proceed to the changing cubicles, thank you.' The two of them were slow getting out of the pool and ended up walking back together, nearly the last to leave the pool.

And with his track-record of being quite the unluckiest person alive, the both of them passed Terry in the hallway where he was taking his possessions out of the locker.

"Hello Boot!" Malfoy announced brightly, beaming in that maniacal way of his.

Terry watched him with narrowed eyes. "Hi." He said morosely.

Harry ran along, matching his paces with Malfoy's to hide from view. Turning down the next corridor, Harry hissed, "I hate you Malfoy. I hate you and I hate your face."

"That's stings, Potter - right here." Malfoy patted the left side of his chest. Sliding his key into the lock of his steel cabinet, he said, in a sleek, careless sort of way, "Besides, you're no fun."

Giving him a frown, Harry said, "How could you know? Maybe you should reserve that judgment after you've spent enough time around me to validate that opinion. I'm loads of fun. Tons, really."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw how Malfoy's lips curved up into something that was almost a smile. "Tell you what," he said. "I'll let you know."

* * *

Chapter title credits go to Coldplay.

All hail Jules, she who has had to face my typos! Brave girl.

Sort of transitory a chapter. But, this is the one that'll slowly start a chain of events. Expect the next chapter soon; and it'll be one that most of you'll really like.

Keep reviewing, sweets, those on the last chapter were amazing. Thanks so much.


	15. A Bad Dream

Disclaimer: I do _not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs. But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Chapter Fifteen – A Bad Dream**

_"Sleep, pretty baby, do not cry, and I'll sing you a lullaby." - Draco Malfoy_

The human body is a treacherous thing. All your life you wear it, grow with it, and use it so naturally that one might think you understand it or, at the very least, could_control_ it. Think again.

Blaise had never felt so betrayed in his life. The worst part was that he couldn't even get a refund. He imagined casually walking up to his mother and complaining on the quality of the job she did on his body. _Honestly, mum, what were you thinking? Bloody thing doesn't do what I want at all!_

Alex leaned into him and scribbled a reply on the page that was half-concealed by his philosophy book.

There we go again. Blaise glared at her, hoping to get the message across -don't touch me-, but of course she only returned the plea with raised eyebrows. Give it a rest, he told his body, to no avail.

His eyes fell to the new message.

_I can't believe she asked you out._

Yeah, me neither, he thought wryly, eyes darting sideways to Padma Patil. Reflecting on that, he had to concede he actually was a big coward, just as much as Draco. All he'd told the poor girl was, 'I'll have to consult- oh the bell,' and then he'd conveniently slipped away with the current of the crowd.

_Me either, _he wrote back. Obviously. Poor Padma looked like she'd rather burst into tears.

_It's not like girls have cooties. _Again, she leaned in to write this and Blaise concentrated hard on leaving an imprint of his pencil in his clenched hand.

_You do. _He scribbled and after a few seconds, added: _Loads of them. Yuck. _

Alex, reading along as he wrote, snorted softly, and sharply bumped her knee against his leg.

Ducking his head so his face was hidden by his forever out-of-control fringe, Blaise hoped she wouldn't see the sudden flush on his face. This was getting out of hand. He'd known her for years, probably been attracted to her for quite a while, but the recent revelation in his own mind caused this chain reaction of-- of what? He never had trouble hiding it before but it seemed that suppressing it might've not been such a good idea.

Meanwhile, Alex had replied.

_You're just jealous that the cooties like me better than they do you. Admit it, I'm fabulous. _

_Oh yes, so fabulous I have trouble sleeping at night. Not. _He wrote back, lying to himself as well. _Besides, who wants cooties, they look disgusting._

_No they don't._

_What do they look like then, genius? _He asked.

With a swipe Alex claimed the sheet of paper for herself and proceeded to draw something on it. After a few minutes, she slid the paper back to him. The 'cootie-creature' she'd drawn on it looked like a Cyclops-ish cross-breed between a spider and a bullfrog.

Huh. I have an appalling taste in women, he thought distractedly. He frowned at her to make it clear he thought the critter was disgusting and drawn with an eye with way too much detail.

_I think it looks sort of cute. _She wrote defiantly and then looked at the drawing with fondness.

_Rather you than me. _He answered and was distracted as Lupin cleared his throat meaningfully, glancing at them.

Blaise hadn't caught a word of what he'd been talking about at all. Which he was assuredly going to regret since it had concerned next week's test.

He glanced at the empty seat next to him with strange turn of his lips. Draco was absent. He'd gone to the hospital to have an x-ray taken of his left hip. In his own opinion, the doctors were way off because what Draco Malfoy obviously needed was a CAT scan. By now, doubtless, the deviousness must have affected his brain in more way than one. After _'then'_or_ 'what they had quarreled about at the pool', _Draco had simply foregone any contact with him for two days, only then to show up with a roll of genuine parchment tied with a red bow. Without further ado, he had handed it to Blaise, who had, with a suspicious look, unfurled it. It had said;

_I, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, hereby grant Blaise Joshua Zabini the exclusive right to court Alex Ladon. This form of courtship includes the wooing and charming of the aforementioned lady, if necessary by means of lavish dinners, the buying of presents and or otherwise desired items, subtle and entirely truthful compliments, and any other method of persuasion as long as said methods are welcome and appreciated. If, in however it might be expressed, Alex Ladon indicates the courting is undesired, all efforts must be ceased immediately and without any expectations of re-compensation, even if previous efforts might have included the need to lavish expensive gifts._

_In consideration and compensation for this grant of rights, the Courter (Blaise Joshua Zabini) hereby agrees that in no way, the Granter (Draco Abraxas Malfoy) shall be ignored in favor of pursuing Alex Ladon, nor shall he be treated differently. Also, the manner of comradeship between Granter and Courter must not change even after the possible achieving of the Courter's ambition: the winning of Alex Ladon's affections. _

_In witness whereof, the Granter and the Courter have each caused this Agreement to be duly executed by themselves, as of the date written above._

Beneath it, Draco had put his loopy and, quite honestly, girly signature.

It was then that Blaise realised that Draco was crazy. Nevertheless, even though he had felt the white-hot urge to punch Draco, because he seemed to think that Blaise needed his permission, he scribbled his own signature besides Draco's. After the glimpse of pure, indignant rage, Blaise understood that this was how Draco wanted to show what he could not say. He could not say that he was afraid to lose both Alex and himself, and he could not say that he was sorry. As a matter of fact, Blaise could count the number of times he had heard Draco apologise and mean it on one hand, and still have fingers left over.

All that aside, that scroll had been the start off his own nicely developing madness.

Blaise had never had troubles with girls before. He knew how to gain a girl's attention like the steps of a well practiced dance. Frankly, it was all very predictable and a bit sad; consequently Blaise never felt very much inclined to take the trouble. It bored him. The whole relationship business as a whole bored him. There had been a few girls he had thought to measure up to his expectations, because they were smart or had nice ambitions and made him smile. Yet, with every attempt he made at the 'being together' business he felt as if they were playing an elaborate game of hide and seek. A cold, detached sort of game. That was always how he felt afterwards. Seeing how the last relationship had ended with an unpleasant bang, Blaise had drawn his conclusions and come to accept that he just didn't have it in him.

Then there was Alex. The damn girl was an enigma. Very tentatively he had taken the first steps. With so much care it might have been subtle enough to miss at all. Yet Alex had immediately slammed on the brakes, regarded him with certain alarm and had found an excuse to escape his company. With every inclination he showed, however slight, he seemed to cause discomfort and left both of them flustered. Alex began jabbering away about nonsense and Blaise had blushed more in the past few days than he had in all his life.

Now he felt silly and stupid and his heart kept beating against his chest like it was trying to get out.

It didn't help that something was wrong with Darragh. He showed up looking wretched and pale, as if he'd love to smash his forehead against the next flat surface that came up. Subsequently, Finbar was pre-occupied with biting his nails to the wick and looking over his brother like hen over a lone chick. His young cousin was tight-lipped about what was ailing him and clung to his clique of friends like a shadow.

And as if this was not enough, Draco had taken his insanity to a new level and seemed to have developed a strange, twisted game with Harry Potter. He never did it when Weasley or his friends were around; only when Potter was alone. He'd even taken special detours to ensure he managed to catch him alone (somehow he seemed to have memorised Potter classes). Then he'd insult him. But they were insults that did not make any sense at all. Things like, 'Same jumper like the one you wore at the pool, haven't got anything better, do you?' The first time, Potter had a fist ready to throw another rage fit, but then he'd looked confused. The second time, Potter retorted with a, 'stalk much?' and Draco had replied, 'Just returning the favor'. Blaise was perpetually confused. The two of them even kept score; Draco was always in lead, and he'd cackle away for hours when he'd seemed to have secured another victory.

Balefully, Blaise looked at Potter. He was sitting with Weasley and the two of them played noughts and crosses on Potter's philosophy book. Those two never seemed to tire of each other and shared that special humor that only the two of them understood. Potter's hair stood up in funky angles and clashed magnificently with Weasley's short garishly red hair. Potter wrote something in the margin of Ron's book. Weasley read it, looked at Parvati Patil and had to smother a howling laugh with both his hands. When Blaise looked at Parvati he could see nothing worth having such a reaction to for the girl was paying attention.

"-which caused a snowball effect- oh," Lupin put down his stub of chalk, as the Headmaster himself cracked the door open.

All students dropped whatever they were doing and watched the interchange with great interest.

"Remus, if I could please have a word with you?" Dumbledore said.

The manner in which this was requested caused concern to slip into Lupin's eyes. "Class, excuse me for a moment, and please keep quiet."

Both of them left the classroom.

Instantly everybody began speculating about this strange interaction. Next to him, Alex let out a gust of breath, linked her hands above her head and stretched. Blaise tried very hard not to stare at the sliver of skin her jumper revealed and failed miserably.

"Is it just me or is this day dreadful?" she said in retrospection.

"Hn," he said, frowning.

He sensed Alex studying his face with an air of obvious bemusement. Understandable seeing as he switched back and forth between moods like flipping through channels on the telly on a Monday morning. But he feared that one glance at his face when he spoke to her would betray him completely.

Right then Professor Lupin came in again and Alex gave up after one last searching look. He looked away from her when the professor entered the room and was stunned by the look of utter dread on his face.

"Harry, come, we have to go."

Potter, startled, looked up. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"I'll explain in the car," Professor Lupin said, voice brittle. "Come, we have to go."

Standing up and slipping into his jacket, Harry made to pack his books.

"Leave it, Harry, now!" Lupin said, voice breaking way to anger. "Ron will take care of it."

Harry looked at his friend, and Ron nodded. "It's alright, mate."

"Yeah, see you," he said and hurried out of the classroom.

--

He had always had an aversion to needles. So when that crazy nurse with the enormous rack had told him they'd needed to inject him with some dodgy viscous matter to get better images, Draco had been hard pressed not hit the ground and crawl away. And it had been one big needle. He had let out a short shout -a very manly one, mind you- and then managed to swallow the rest of it. After that, it had been over soon, but that damned needle would haunt his dreams for days to come.

His left hip had been bothering him lately; it had been fractured when he'd fallen down one of the many numerous flights of stairs they had in their house. At seven years old, Draco had developed an annoying habit of sliding around the hallways on woolen socks. Those very same socks had caused him to miss a step and he'd tumbled down a long way. That was a long time ago, but when he had particularly taxed it, like with swimming, it would play up. For now, it was nothing to worry about really, but when his mother discovered him limping the slightest bit, she'd gotten that intent look on her face and bullied the best doctors of St. Mungo's to vacating a slot in their schedule.

At least it had gained him an free day from the university.

Wandering through the painfully white hallways, Draco tried to decide what he would do to occupy the rest of his day with. He had a few movies lying around he could watch, he had a new game on his Playstation 3, or he could always badger someone into making him pastries.

Eventually he found the exit and he carefully approached the revolving glass doors. Revolving doors and him were bitter enemies; as a kid he'd once gotten the index finger on his right hand to get stuck between glass wall and the door. It had made an ominous cracking noise, but had not broken. He cast an intensely suspicious eye on the glass doors. They seemed to be mocking him but he got through without needing to fight for his life -or fingers- and exited into the cool autumn air. Like most hospitals, St. Mungo was surrounded by a small oasis of green, most likely so the patients could step outside without risking to get hit by a car.

A whole afternoon of blessed quality time he needed only to indulge on himself. He loved quality time with himself.

Following the gentle curve of the pavement towards the main street, Draco slid out his mobile phone, meaning to call his father to pick him up. He was scrolling through the menus when he looked up and to his right. He did not know why or when or how this just kept happening, but he recognised him anyway. Harry Potter stood poised on edge of the lawn, back facing Draco and seemed to be staring with great interest at the miniature pond, containing exactly two overfed ducks and an agitated goose.

Draco wondered whether he should be spooked by the extend of Potter's will to stalk him, and quietly slink away or try to add a few points in their War of Wits by engaging him. Then he wondered if he no longer needed to have this debate with himself seeing as he had already dropped his phone into his trousers and begun walking over in Potter's direction.

"Well, well, Potter," he said. "This? The stalking thing? You're taking it too far. I know it must be hard on you not to spend every moment basking in the golden glow of-"

"Please, just go away, Malfoy."

Draco gaped like an effing common goldfish. Just as he was about to show off his creative genius, Potter had the audacity to actually interrupt him? What an utter prat.

"I mean it, Malfoy," Potter said in a rough, low voice. "Go away."

"Excuse me?" Draco exclaimed indignantly.

Potter did not turn to face Draco, nor did he acknowledge him otherwise. He hunched in onto himself, fringe askew and falling over his face.

Draco thought quickly. "Is this about Boot again? I can make him disappear if he keeps tormenting you." Already a plan came to mind using only bottle caps to dispose of Boot without leaving evidence and an evil little smirk graced his face as his devious plot developed.

There was a strange noise from under the awful mess of hair and Potter retorted, "Leave Terry alone, Malfoy. And now, could you please just go?"

"What's with you?" Draco demanded, flustered at Potter lack of response.

Suddenly, or not so what with those rage issues of his, Potter whirled around and all but roared, "GO AWAY!"

Draco jumped back physically, prepared to snarl something vicious and stopped dead. Potter's eyes were wild and wide and something else. Something Draco didn't want to recognise but had no choice but to. Harry Potter was trying, very hard so, not to cry.

"Oh! I see, I have to go!" Draco instantly averted his eyes, taking another step back, trying not to die of terror. "My father with the car, have to, waiting-"

Potter just turned around again and was silent.

Draco held his breath; stood rooted to the spot. He heard his own voice as if it came from far, far away, sounding very panicked. "I'll get someone. Stay here. Just don't move."

Then Potter laughed, the most horrific sound, as if he were coughing up shreds of broken glass. "They didn't want to tell us how bad it was, and he's been three hours in surgery now and I saw his motorcycle. There was nothing left-" He spoke quickly, his voice rising in volume, the words tripping over themselves in a rush to get out.

"Slow down, I have no idea what you're talking about. You're obviously overwrought. I'll go and get someone, like, Granger or-" Draco tired to make himself sound calm and competent, though he wracked his brain for a solution. Such emotional displays made him feel caged and dizzy.

But Potter kept doing that awful laugh, raging and rasping and coughing out those sounds, and between those Draco could hear 'just leave', but he took one look at Potter's face, saw the first tear sliding down his cheek and felt his resistance buckle like a dandelion under an elephants foot.

"Oh, bloody hell," he muttered, stepping closer and patting Potter awkwardly on the shoulder. "Come here, shh," he heard himself talking in a commanding and slightly annoyed voice. "Calm down. I haven't the slightest idea what you're ranting about. Take a deep breath and calm down. Shh, that's it." He carefully touched Potter's hair, trying settle him down. But at that light touch, Potter turned, took a step and leaned forward.

Potter's face fit snugly into the curve between his neck and shoulder.

Again, Draco tried not to spontaneously combust.

"Potter," he said helplessly.

Tears were sliding into the collar of his long-sleeved shirt and Draco, working past the shock, brought up an arm and put it around Potter properly. And although he didn't make a sound, Potter wept the tears of one who knew their life, which was formerly quaint and oh-so-perfect, was now nothing more than shattered hopes and dreams. Draco could feel his jaw clench for every tear that escaped. But other than that, Potter was completely in control; he did not gasp nor sniffle nor shudder, and now that the tears were out, he went completely still.

It felt strange to hold another boy so close. Potter's flat chest hitched against his with every cruelly controlled intake of air and he was almost as tall as himself. He smelled so differently from a girl; that typical husky sweet-sour smell of a young man, laced with the unique scent of rain he had, magnified by salty tears. It was strange and confusing in a terrifying way, leaving him quite tongue-tied.

Potter's hair was tickling his cheek, soft and thick and utterly messy. Draco did not know what to say; words of kindness were utterly useless and he couldn't seem to force them past his lips anyway. So, suddenly shivering, he moved his cheek against Potter's disagreeable hair and sang softly.

_"Golden slumber kiss your eyes, smiles await you when you rise." _

He could hear his own voice trembling through the lulling tone and had to fight to keep it steady.

_"Sleep, pretty baby, do not cry, and I'll sing you a lullaby." _

Vividly, he remembered his mother leaning over as she tucked him in, hair whispering past his face. His voice was barely audible and after the first verse he hummed the rest of the song, its soothing sounds rising and falling familiar to him after the countless years past.

Potter was warm and Draco could feel the movement of his moist lashes against his neck. It seemed Potter had gotten his bearings again, tears suppressed. He finished the lullaby and the silence that followed was somehow laden with certain tenseness. His arms felt wooden around Potter's waist and Potter was barely breathing.

He said as coolly as he could, "Alright then, if you are done having vapors, let's heard what this is all about."

Potter stepped away as if Draco's close physical presence was abruptly too much to bear. He scrubbed his sleeve over his face, erasing the evidence of the appearance of his sudden weakness and said, "Sorry."

"Your moment of indiscretion is forgiven, Potter. But I do expect compensation for the stains on my favorite shirt." He was rewarded with a rueful smile. "Now tell me, what's happened?"

"It's Sirius-"

Draco arched a brow.

"My Godfather, he's had an accident. They'd come to tell us, Remus and me, at Hogwarts. He's been in surgery for more than three hours, but they won't tell us anything. His motorcycle, Malfoy, it's a wreck, how can he-" Potter made a trembling movement that suggested exhaustion and nerves.

"You're overreacting, Potter," he drawled in his purposefully detached voice, for it seemed to calm Potter and give them a sense of normalcy. "If he'd been as good as dead, they'd gone ahead and told you by now. Honestly, they're not keeping his sorry corpse up there to experiment on. He's probably broken something and patching up broken limbs just happens to take a long time. No need to get all worked up about it."

Potter tried to glare at him, but it was a bit weak and he ended up looking as if he needed to use the loo very urgently.

Draco, magnanimous as he was, patted Potter indulgently on the shoulder. "There, there, my little savage, let's get me -and you of course- some coffee. Everything will be better then."

He steered Potter back towards the building. "Now, inform me, why is it that Professor Lupin had to come?"

"Er," Potter said.

Draco fought a smile; if Potter's horrid inflection had resurfaced again, it must mean he'd handled this consoling thing rather expertly.

"I didn't quite catch that, Potter, try again."

Potter's neck and cheeks were flushed red and he mumbled something under his breath, giving Draco a shifty look. "You'd use it to humiliate Remus at school," he grumbled.

"Me? I wouldn't dare. Have I but breathed a word about Boot's manic desire for you? No, I have not. I'm too nice for my own good. I could have filled hours tormenting Boot with that. Hours!" he told Potter severely. Of course he needn't add that he was reluctant to tempt Potter into hitting him again either.

"And that was very noble of you," Potter conceded. "But that does not mean I trust you."

"Oh, come off it, Potter. I'll pinky swear or something, now hand over the gossip! It must be good if you bristle so vehemently." He told him, trying not to sound too eager. "Besides, compensation, remember? I let you weep upon my manly breast with no regard for my image as heartless bastard."

Potter rolled his eyes at him, the effect ruined by how puffy and red they were and Draco felt that sharp stab in his lower belly again. He tried to keep his haughty expression from crumbling.

"Alright then," Harry said, his voice still rough. "Remus is, er, gay and Sirius, is, ah, too and well yes."

If it had not been for the revolving doors -curse them- Draco would have frozen right then and there to give his reaction more drama. "You mean Professor I-wear-the-same-clothes-all-week-and-I-am-prematurely-gray Lupin is getting it on with your Godfather? Oh how-" he swallowed the last on account of Potter's evil eye.

"How unusual," he finished politely.

"Not getting it on, exactly, even after twenty years. I mean I assume they want to, er, get it on, but they're not." He shook his head and said sharply, "Let's talk about something else."

"So, unrequited love on both sides," Draco mused, ignoring Potter's plea, "How pointless."

Potter gave him a look that promised the fist of fury again.

"No really, think about it. They could have been getting laid for years now, but they're not. That's a bit sad." He said thoughtfully.

Looking horrified at the idea of his Godfather getting laid, Potter did not reply, but Draco was convinced he agreed a bit.

The two of them, Potter leading, worked their way up to the coffee machine, where Draco purchased coffee for the both of them and then continued on to where Harry had already spend a hour and half waiting for news about his Godfather. Potter had insisted on buying for Lupin as well. He was such a bleeding heart, it was ridiculous.

They found Lupin sitting as though carved from stone on a plastic hospital chair, elbows balanced on his legs, hands over his face.

"Remus, here," Harry said, prudently putting the plastic cup between Lupin's unsteady hands.

Draco wondered whether he should go now and he looked over his shoulder back towards the way they'd come. Potter solved his inner conflict by grabbing his sleeve and pulling him down onto a chair next to him.

"Mister Malfoy," Lupin said, voice hoarse, "I am surprised to see you here."

Draco had never disliked professor Lupin; obviously the man was competent, but must he really have to wear such threadbare clothing? Snape was properly dressed and they must have about the same salary, so what was Lupin's problem? Then again, genius as he was, Snape could possibly be a super-spy and have a nifty complex such as the Bat-cave and make loads of money on the side. He had the cape already, so it might not be as farfetched as it sounded.

"Me either, sir," he said in what he hoped sounded like an unimpressed drawl, "but being the sort of person I am, kind, caring, brilliant, I could not make myself to leave Potter alone. He can't take care of himself; he'd have drowned in the duck-pond or something equally idiotic."

Lupin cast an imploring look at Potter, knowing that he must want to contradict the mention of either Draco's virtues or his idiotic wandering tendency, but Potter just leaned back, eyes closed. He had yet to relinquish his grasp on Draco's sleeve. As he wasn't particularly using his arm right now, he let Potter keep it if it made him feel better. Not that he was being nice, but Draco pitied the poor bloke.

"I see," Lupin said, but it was clear he didn't.

It was a long wait. Potter did not speak and kept his eyes closed. He looked as pale as chalk and his eyes were surrounded by dark smudges. New wrinkles seemed to appear on Lupin's face by the minutes and Draco wondered whether he'd shrivel up like a dry prune before the doctors came to fetch them.

--

"Mister Harry Potter?" A middle aged man in a white coat queried.

Harry sat up, fear immediately clenching around his heart. "Yes? How-how is he?"

"Mister Black has yet to wake up, but there is no immediate threat to his life anymore." The doctor said.

"How's his condition?" Remus asked as Harry let out a deep breath that seemed to come out of the pit of his stomach.

Flipping a page on his clipboard, the doctor said, "There was internal bleeding, but we managed to staunch that. Two ribs are broken and I'm afraid his left ankle has been shattered. If there are no complications it might heal straight, but he will never be able to use it as he did, though he will be able to walk again."

Harry felt his heart sink again. Sirius would hate that, he would hate being somewhat dependent and less than agile. Even worse was if it were to interfere with his work in the garage; Sirius was a proud man. "Can we see him?"

"For a moment, yes. Though I don't know who you are?" He asked, indicating Remus. "Are you a relative of the patient?" His eyes flicked to Malfoy as well.

"I am a relative but have no need to see him," Malfoy said, and Harry looked up sharply, "Mister Lupin here, though, is his lover and would like very much to see him."

Both Harry and Remus stared at Malfoy with a look of abject horror while the blonde leaned complacently back, steepling his fingers.

"Are you family of Sirius'?" Harry hissed, eyes wide.

"Yeah, a cousin or something, not positive." He said, unruffled.

"Why didn't you say so?" Harry demanded.

"It was 'Mister Black' that tipped me off, really." Draco said smugly.

Meanwhile, the doctor, ignoring their exchange looked critically at Remus and asked gravely, "Well, Mister Lupin, are you Mister Black's lover?"

"I-I-" Remus stammered, casting Malfoy a sharp glance.

The doctor, strangely, smiled, "There is no need to be so flustered, Mister Lupin. We hardly concern ourselves with the obvious implications that it brings along."

Remus nodded, though in agreement with the last statement or the earlier question, that was unclear. The doctor seemed to take Remus' red ears as proof enough and inclined his head, motioning them along.

Harry rose to his feet and made to follow.

"Potter," Draco said in an air of someone who suffers a lot, "Release my wrist please. I know you'd like to take it along, but seeing as I remain here, it will be a rather painful experience on my part. And although I know it will break your heart to be parted from me, I must ask that you relinquish my wrist at once."

Dropping Malfoy's wrist as thought it were a red hot iron, Harry flushed. At the blonde's imperious nod of the head, Harry hurried after Remus and the doctor.

Sirius' room mimicked the sterile feeling that the entire building emanated. The sense of stifling dread was only enhanced by the steady beep of the heart monitor. His godfather was lying deadly still on the bed, his black hair a blotch of ink around his pallid face. There were bandages everywhere and Harry could see bruising on every uncovered patch of skin. Harry approached silently and knelt besides the bed. He sensed Remus standing behind him.

Other than the beep of the monitor and the rising and falling of Sirius' chest, there were no other signs of life.

Harry's own hand looked pink and healthy next to Sirius' purple and gray one. Carefully Harry curled his fingers around the cold ones of his Godfather. He's going to be fine, Harry told himself.

He carefully looked away when Remus leaned over and pressed his lips against Sirius' forehead, an expression of abject pain etched on his features.

He'd feel so much better if Sirius had just been awake but Sirius remained unchanging. His mind shied away from the very thought, but suddenly he wondered how life would be without Sirius. Eyes growing hot again, Harry wondered why it seemed as though he could not stop after crying after the first. He clenched his jaw and kept his eyes unnaturally wide to keep from bawling again. Slowly, Harry felt Sirius' chilly hand gaining a bit more temperature in his own.

He's going to be fine.

The doctor tactfully opened the door and cleared his throat softly.

Harry looked up, took a deep shivering breath, and pressed his face against Sirius' hand. He stood up and left the room. After a moment Remus exited looking equally deeply shaken.

After that it was a vague blending of events, stress blotching out most of the formality. He remembered insisting on staying until Sirius regained consciousness. That protest was deflected by Remus who seemed to think that Harry needed to rest and regain his bearings. The argument was not enough to convince Harry that he should go, though. Harry still felt as if Sirius was about too step behind a veil, to a place where he would not be able to follow. And if he were to leave, he'd almost be encouraging Sirius to do so. Almost making it easier for him.

It was Malfoy who managed to reason with him. "Don't be any more stupid than you can help, Potter. The man has had about four hours of surgery, has had his brains doped to mush and is not likely to wake up anytime soon. More than time enough to go home, have a rest, change clothing, eat something and come back. And don't you have goldfish to feed or something?"

"Something like that," Harry mumbled.

"Well, then," Malfoy said, gesturing with a 'there you go' sort of air. "Besides I'm certain Mister Lupin will call you immediately when he does wake up."

Remus nodded, having composed himself enough to look completely mystified by Malfoy's cordial behavior. Of course, with their track-record of getting along, this was not surprising. It came as a bit of shock to him as well but for some reason they were able to get along when not bashing one another in the heads. Harry wasn't entirely positive it made sense to him either.

But as Malfoy all but bullied him away from the waiting room, Harry was absolutely positive of one thing:

The moment Malfoy had said 'come here' and 'shh' and sang that silly lullaby, Harry's heart had done a grand somersault and thrown itself at Malfoy's feet.

--

Still feeling as if something had hit him repeatedly over the head, Harry turned in his seat and watched Malfoy's sparse figure growing smaller as the distance between them grew wider. Malfoy strut seemed to make it a point to show that he was leaving for home and not turning round as soon as he'd get the chance. Harry's bus rounded a corner and Malfoy disappeared entirely. Huddling into himself, Harry gazed ahead, seeing and hearing nothing, thinking only of Sirius all alone in that white chamber. About Remus perching on that plastic chair, knuckles white. About Malfoy's cheek against his hair and how he could feel the tremors in his voice as he'd hummed that lullaby.

As he sat staring blindly ahead, Harry suddenly realised how completely exhausted he was. He was cold, his heart kept racing in his chest and he had to focus to keep his eyes open.

When he finally got off at his stop, dragging his feet and eyelids heavy, he walked up the staircase on autopilot. He nearly stepped on Ron before he noticed him.

"Ron!" he said and was startled by how brittle and broken his own voice sounded.

Ron stood up, moving like someone who'd been sitting in the same position for too long. "Harry, took you long enough, mate!" He said, voice gruff. "Is -is everything okay?"

Staring, Harry looked at Ron's familiar face with its too long nose and explosion of freckles. He seemed as embarrassed as Harry was feeling. "No, not really." He managed, struggling to keep his voice steady.

"We could tell-" Ron replied quickly, "Lupin went chalk white and Dumbledore seemed really dead serious when he told us to use the free time to study."

Harry nodded, feeling as if his early afternoon was a long, long time ago, as if from a different life entirely.

Eyes darting to his face and then to the door, Ron said, "Let's go inside, you look like hell."

"So everybody keeps saying," Harry mumbled, thinking of Malfoy. It took him very long to remember where'd put his keys and when he finally dug them out, Ron was frowning.

They entered the flat. Ron had brought Harry's books as well and he sat them on the ground next to the couch. Having finally wrestled off his vest, Harry walked into the eerily silent living room after Ron. The latter was walking around, glancing into the other chambers with a polite smile ready on his face. Harry steeled himself.

Sitting down on the couch, Ron asked, "Sirius not home yet?"

His resolve broke the minute Ron mentioned his godfather's name. Turning away, he said, "No. No, he's in the hospital."

When he finally turned back to Ron, his best friend was open-mouthed and without words.

"They say he's going to be fine though; Remus is still there. They- eh, he told me to go home to change and eat. And to get some sleep. The surgery lasted for four hours and he's had a load of medications, so he'll- he'll probably sleep for a while." The words came out in a rush and he looked at a point above Ron's head as he stood. "I didn't really want to, but M- he made me. So."

"What happened?" Ron asked, getting up and following Harry into the kitchen.

Pouring water into the kettle to make tea, Harry said, "Accident with his motorcycle."

"Oh," Ron said softly," Here let me do that." he said, taking the bags of tea and the bowl of sugar out of Harry's unsteady hands.

They stood in silence until the water started to boil. Ron poured water into their mugs, the water turning amber instantly as it came in contact with the tea bags.

The silence stretched until Harry slopped hot tea over his hand while picking up his mug. Waving it in the air to make it cool as a sudden anger began bubbling in his chest, Ron surprised him by grabbing his wrist and saying, "You'd better get some sleep first; you look dead on your feet."

Opening his mouth to argue, Ron stopped him by gently squeezing his wrist and then letting go.

Harry felt the fight drain out of him and as if Ron's words had invoked magic, he started to yawn. He couldn't quite cover it and both Ron and he grinned at each other.

When he crawled under the cold covers of his bed, Harry felt immensely grateful for Ron sitting on the stairs, waiting.

Falling asleep was easy; maybe because Ron had turned the telly on in the sitting room, softly so, but the inane noises helped Harry's attention to focus elsewhere.

It was as if he'd just closed his eyes when he was jolted awake. He lay blinking himself awake, a dream of Malfoy wearing Harry's favorite blue t-shirt and murmuring 'shh, don't be anymore stupid than you can help, Potter, come here' in his ear, leaving his body aching. His eyes slid to the digital alarm clock, which informed him that he'd been asleep for nearly two hours. Then he heard a familiar voice from out of the sitting room.

"-still sleeping now?"

"I guess so," he heard Ron reply and noted how uncomfortable he sounded. "I don't reckon he'll mind if you go in, though."

Harry managed to roll onto his stomach just in the nick of time. He heard Hermione open the door and shut it quietly. I do mind, thank you very much, he tried to convey into Ron's brain. Hermione sat carefully down next to him, the mattress dipping.

"Harry, are you awake?" she asked.

"Hmm," he answered and peered up at her. His eyes felt gritty from sleeping with his contacts in.

"Hi," Hermione said, "Ron told me what happened. I'm so sorry."

"So you're speaking to each other again?" Harry said and immediately felt sorry as she flinched. It was a nasty thing to say when she was here to comfort him. But he was embarrassed and Malfoy's bright hair kept flitting through his brain.

"Sorry," he grumbled, "I-'

"It's okay," Hermione said, "Ron let me in and we had to say something. I didn't know what happened so I came as soon as supper was over. He told me it's going to be alright?"

Harry, making certain the duvet was heaped generously in his lap, sat up. "Yeah, he's not critical anymore, but he's yet to wake up."

As always, Hermione looked at him knowingly for a moment, making Harry squirm, though he didn't know why. Then she stood up and said in that practical, Hermione-ish way of hers, "You haven't eaten anything yet, right? I'll take care of that, take a shower and then you can have a bite before you go back to the hospital."

Satisfied that both she and Ron could not see, he got up grabbed some clothes and, clutching them against his lower stomach, hurried to the bathroom. His clothes felt sticky and gross when he peeled them off before stepping into the tub. Hot water smacked against the back of his neck, stinging. It felt wonderful, allowing clarity into his mind and the slight pain make him feel alive again. Concentrating on the water running down his body, Harry considered how he felt overall and decided that Malfoy and Lupin were right, he was feeling better. Sirius' accident still caused palpitations in his heart, but he could look at the situation now without feeling the panic of earlier.

The three of them had pizza and even though Ron and Hermione were painfully polite to each other, Harry felt his life slipping back into a semblance of normalcy with every passing moment.

--

It was two days later while he was doing some homework Hermione had brought earlier by Sirius' bed when that _he_ woke up.

"Harry," he rasped, his voice sounding like a veritable storm of hail-marys to Harry's ears.

Harry barely felt the pen fall from his fingers and he had to restrain himself from throwing himself onto Sirius. "Sirius, oh God, you're awake!" He compromised by balancing himself under Sirius' underarms as to not cause him pain. He half hugged him and kissed his godfather clumsily on the cheek for the first time in years.

Sirius was grinning when Harry straightened up again, the smile crooked due to the stitches next to the left side of his mouth. Moving as though to make to sit up, Sirius groaned and grunted, "I feel like I've been hit by a car."

"You were," Harry pointed out, raising an eyebrow as he bent down to pick up his scattered homework.

"Oh yeah," Sirius mumbled, touching his ribcage and then frowning at his foot dangling in a sling above the bed.

Harry helped him sit up straighter by tucking a pillow behind his back and tilting the bed up. His heart was throwing itself against his chest euphorically and he couldn't seem to wipe the daft smile off his face. Harry's relief seemed to cloud his brain as he tried to think of something else he could do for Sirius - Remus!

Sticking his head down the hallway, he hollered, "He's awake! Remus, he's awake!"

Instantly Lupin came sprinting down the hallway from out of the recreation corner, nearly bowling Harry over in his rush to get in. Just as he opened his mouth to tell Lupin about Sirius' ridiculous remark of getting hit by a car, he faltered and stared openly.

Lupin had Sirius' face cradled in his hands, which seemed to cause the latter some pain, but the fact that Remus' lips were on his seemed to make the pain cease to exist.

Lupin pulled back and all but snarled, "Next time you nearly get yourself killed, I'll murder you myself." And then proceeded to snog the living daylights out of him. Sirius' wide, stunned eyes fluttered shut and he wholeheartedly returned the sentiment, hands coming up to settle on the other man's arms.

Harry was torn between being annoyed - because hello, what was he? Chopped liver? - and amusement. Then the instinct to make a face when see your own family -especially someone in a parental role- making out, won. Leaving the room, he wandered around in search for a nurse. He spotted the one with the massive knockers Malfoy had pointed out two days ago. The one he'd said had tried to stab him to death with a needle. He was such a drama-queen. She smiled sweetly when he stuttered at her and followed him back after notifying the doctor that his patient had woken up.

Being merciful, Harry cleared his throat loudly before entering.

Remus was arranging the tokens from Sirius' well-wishers and his godfather was grinning a bit too widely, his hair tangled.

That he'd needed to get nearly killed to finally get this far, was, as Malfoy had said, a bit pathetic.

The doctor ran a thorough check on his godfather and explained the situation about his shattered ankle. Sirius' smile slipped with every word the man uttered and was furiously scowling by the time the doctor finished. You'd think he'd be happy not to have died and still get some over-due snogging done, but no.

"You'll need some assistance the first few weeks after you've been released, Mister Black." The doctor was saying reasonably, but Sirius continued to look as if the man was asking him to donate his right bollock.

Even after the doctor took his leave, Sirius was still frowning, eyes trained on the badly damaged foot.

"I'll help you out and, like the doctor explained, if you're careful it'll heal." Remus said to him.

Sirius was still pouting and Harry felt like screaming at him to be grateful that he wasn't stone cold dead by now.

"But what about the garage? What about Harry? He can't stay home all day to help me, he's got school-" He said 'help' as though it were something shameful.

"You'll move in with me temporarily. I'll speak to Dumbledore about taking-" Remus cut in calmly as Sirius' face screwed up at the mere thought of being handicapped.

"I can't leave Harry all alone! How's he-"

"I'll be fine, Sirius. I'm seventeen; I think I can manage living alone for a short time." Harry said loudly. On the inside he felt a bit resentful to Lupin for suggesting Sirius 'move in with him'. He hid it well, but Harry had seen his godfather's eyes brighten up at Lupin's words. It was understandable, he guessed. He was not an old man and living with the person he'd been stuck on for years was certainly desirable. Yet part of him wanted to ask 'but what about me?'

"Besides, the garage will keep running; you've got competent men working for you. The bills will be paid." Harry said instead, looking at the bruised face, carefully not looking at the shine in Sirius' eyes.

"We'll see," Remus said suddenly, ending the discussion. "You need to sleep. We all do."

"I'm not tired," Sirius said defiantly even though his eyes were already half-closed.

"Of course you're not," Remus said, in a husky, lowered voice Harry had never thought to hear him use.

He averted his eyes when they kissed again, deeply.

"I'm not," Sirius, his voice languid and teasing. His hand moved to Remus' thigh.

That was going too far, he coughed pointedly into his fist and raised his eyebrows when they half sprang apart, flustered. "Forgot I'm here, did you?" He inquired, a bit surly.

"Come here, cub," Sirius said, opening an arm.

All the resentful and uneasy feelings left when Sirius gave him a one-armed hug, his fingers in Harry's hair. For a moment Harry indulged himself and put his head against his godfather's shoulder, face turned into is neck. "Don't ever scare me like that again." Harry growled before pulling away.

"Sorry," Sirius said, smiling that warm, private smile just for Harry.

--

With that last smile before his mind's eye; Harry and Remus sat in silence as the latter drove them home. Dusk arrived earlier with each passing day and so it was in near darkness by the time the two of them stumbled up the stairs. As Harry said goodbye and thanked him, Remus reached out briefly and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry smiled tentatively at him, because he knew what Remus was worried about. Having been so silent for the whole ride must have only reinforced that suspicion.

Harry wasn't entirely decided in what to think concerning Remus and Sirius because while he was happy for them, he couldn't help but wonder what else would change. The both of them were still young enough to want some private time and Harry couldn't quite imagine there being a place for him. Even though Sirius would never do it, a part of Harry was afraid he'd get sent back to the Dursleys.

Pushing open the door, he was welcomed by the smell of bacon and the telly prattling softly. Ron was slouched on the couch, looking half asleep. He did grin at Harry when Harry playfully punched his shoulder.

"Hi Harry," Hermione called out.

Following the intoxicating smell into the kitchen, Harry found her pushing a few slices of bacon around in the pan, other hand stirring stew with a wooden spoon.

"Hungry?"

"Starving," Harry said, his belly aching. He looked at Hermione's delicate face and her wild hair and suddenly felt a stab of affection for her that brought a smile to his face. "Thanks Hermione."

"Hm?"

"For being here, making food, even though it's-" he looked at his watch, "nearly ten in the evening."

"We're you're friends Harry," she said, seemingly annoyed that she needed to point out the obvious. Then she changed the subject, "How is he?"

Suddenly he was grinning and Hermione must've been able to read his face so well because she started smiling, too, "Really? How was he? What did he say?"

"That he felt like he'd been hit by a car,"

Hemione snorted. Meanwhile Ron had joined them, leaning against the door-frame, scratching his stomach, looking tired.

"And then, well, Remus started kissing him, so there wasn't much intellectual conversation after that," Harry said with a wry smile, not wanting to go into too much depth lest it mean more explanations.

"You're kidding, right?" Ron said, wide awake in record time.

"That's nice for them," Hermione said primly, stirring the stew.

Harry shrugged helplessly.

"Huh," Ron said, blinking and then veered towards safer topics. He eyed the bacon over Hermione's shoulder. "Think I could have slice of that when you're done?"

"It's for Harry!" She said, shouldering him against the chest. "You've already eaten dinner."

Ron groaned, "But that was _hours_ ago!"

All earlier anxiety disappeared as he listened to his two friends bicker. Things would turn out just fine. Sirius deserved to be with Remus and vice-versa. Sirius wouldn't send him back to the Dursleys. He felt a bit ashamed that he'd thought -even for a second- that Sirius would break his word. His godfather's smile swam into view again, and Harry smiled back.

After the much overdue dinner, Harry felt his eyes grow heavy. Keen on catching up on much needed sleep that would be nightmare-free now that Sirius had come out of coma, Harry took a shower and sluggishly headed towards Sirius' room to sleep. Hermione had his bed and Ron the couch; they had been staying over ever since the accident. Moral support, he supposed, even though they went about it as if them being there was quite normal.

They truly were real friends.

Hair still wet, body heavy with exhaustion, Harry crawled between the cold sheets humming to himself. It was bliss to lie down and let sleep overcome him. Nyoka was piled on the bed, much too heavy and making the mattress dip drastically. Harry didn't mind though; he never did. His hand crept over the covers to find her slick scales and as he stroked his fingers over head, he finished the song he was humming with words.

_"-and I'll sing you a lullaby."_

* * *

Title credits go to Keane - A Bad Dream.

Well, then, I've finally updated. To all those who offered words of encouragement and endured the long wait without complaining; thank you so much. You have no idea how much your support means to me.

I do hope you like this chapter. A whole lot of work and revising went into it.

Also, my website is up. HaH deleted scenes can be found there. OC character profiles and portraits coming soon (I hope).


	16. Simple and Clean

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J

Disclaimer: I do _not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Chapter Sixteen – Simple and Clean**

_"If they expect people like Harry and Malfoy to get along just fine, they're in for a disappointment." - Seamus Finnigan  
_

Huddling into his warm sweater, Harry watched his breath fog the window with every exhale. It was two hours before he normally awoke and he was already on the bus. As if that weren't enough, November was bringing out its bitterest cold; enough to coat the whole of Hogsmeade in a layer of frost.

It was Monday, the first of the five day trip that had been scheduled. Having arrived as one of the first, Harry nearly had the entire bus to himself and he chose a seat roughly in the middle. He had sat in the seat closest to the window and had put his rucksack on the one next to him, saving it for Ron. His other bag, the one filled with his clothes, was already stowed away in the bottom of the bus. From where he sat, he could see the driver standing outside in the cold, smoking.

Knowing he was sulking but unable to help himself, Harry frowned at the world outside. Remus had dropped him of but ten minutes ago and the whole affair had been strained, awkward and confusing. He hadn't wanted to go and would've gladly cancelled the trip so he could've stayed home. He'd wanted to keep an eye on his godfather but both he and Remus hadn't left him. They both wanted him to go on the trip and relax while having a good time.

Tomorrow Sirius would be released from the hospital and Harry would not be there to celebrate that. No, instead they, Sirius and Remus, would 'celebrate' that without him.

Harry knew he was being petty, but he indulged himself for a short while, eyes still gazing unseeingly out of the window.

He was still sitting like that when suddenly Draco's narrow face appeared from between the gap between the two bus seats behind him, scaring the living daylights out of Harry.

"Splendid job on the emo look, Potter. All you need is some eyeliner," he said by ways of greeting.

"Good morning to you, too, Malfoy. You seem to be your usual friendly and cordial self," Harry said monotonously, rolling his eyes.

"I know," he said smugly. "So how's old Blackie doing? Still among the living?"

If any other person had said those same exact words in that same exact tone, Harry would have beaten him to a pulp in blind rage. However, because it was Draco, he just answered peaceably. "Better, I should say. He's going home tomorrow."

"Ah," Draco said, almost disappointedly. "So much for the drama. I was counting on you Potter- counting on you to put some life into this whole ordeal. I swear this trip is going to be positively dreadful. My father did some research on the location and the facilities where we'll be forced to live, and I should say no good can come from this at all."

"First of all, my life is not a soap opera, even if you think it should be," Harry said, getting the hang of the conversation, "and second of all, if you think it will be dreadful, then it might actually be the most exciting thing to happen for a while."

Draco pouted, "_I_ am the most exciting thing to happen for a while," he muttered, and then added, "and you know it."

Wisely, Harry decided not to grace that with an answer.

Possibly because he was not sure that, if he were to be completely honest, the answer would be a negative.

--

Rocking constantly and ever so often giving a sharp lurch when they hit a pothole, the bus drove down a country road in the middle of nowhere. Draco sat next to a painfully non-talkative Blaise who still seemed to be debating whether he'd forgiven Draco or not. Not that it bothered Draco; he knew his friend well enough by now not to get worried. On the other hand, it was quite possible that he was still pre-occupied with the whole Alex-issue.

From what he'd gathered both Blaise and Alex had gone shopping during the weekend. Apparently Blaise had gotten her a veritable mountain of clothes, all on his costs, and on top of that they'd had dinner together somewhere quite fancy.

If Blaise wasn't being such a grump, Draco would've given him a pat on the shoulder and congratulated him. He was taking this courting thing seriously.

Alex was in the seat before him, engaged in animated conversation with Dean Thomas, and Draco understood that a big part of Blaise's silent surliness might be accountable to that.

To love, one had to be enjoy masochism else why endure the constant torture?

He leaned back and glanced at the handsome profile of his friend who seemed intent on developing some mutant super-power so he could laser-beam holes into the back of Thomas' head with his eyes. At least Blaise could be counted on to serve as entertainment for the bus ride. That was one part of this hellhole that would serve to be a joy.

Draco had yet to change his deposition towards this whole trip. His father had found out that the facilities were located in a forest naught but an half an hour's walk from the sea. While the proximity to the water could be enjoyable, still, a week long trip in the midst of moronic classmates, a pleathora of insects, and hormonal friends did not seem fun.

However, there was one upside to all of this; their roommates were not pre-assigned. The teachers had passed around a sheet of paper earlier, on which the students were to note with whom they wanted to share a room with. The sixth years all stayed in the main house, as it was called. It was supposed to be a large complex in a rustic style, where everybody was to gather for meal times and social events. The seventh years, however, got the chalets: small wooden cabins that could fit four to six persons.

The teachers had, to everyone shock, announced that they could chose with whom they wanted to share a room or chalet. When the question was raised whether it might be 'mixed' groups, the answer had been yes. The pupils had been gravely informed that, with most of them being eighteen or as good as, they were deemed to be at a responsible age. If they really _wanted to_, the teachers were quite powerless to stop them. They 'trusted' in their common sense and wanted them to have this opportunity to prove it.

The dumb fools, Draco thought. He was perfectly sure that it was going to be one big orgy day in day out.

On the positive side, he got to have Alex in their cabin. He shared one with her, Blaise and Nott. He was quite fine with that, even if Alex and Blaise finally decided to pull their heads out of their arses and got together during those five days.

But seriously, which bunch of morons decided that the better part of a herd of sexually frustrated eighteen year olds would abstain for a whole five days? On the other hand, this could either mean that Draco was about to have the time of is life wrecking havoc on all those fragile egos, or he'd go mad.

He found himself wondering who Potter would bunk with. For sure Weasel and Granger. Plus he'd caught from Thomas that he and Finnigan would join them, too.

Thinking of Potter led to thinking of Potter leaning in and crying, which send a volley of emotions through him akin to nausea. He still hasn't reconciled that event with his regular going-ons in life and he almost wished he could erase it from his memory, so he'd be free of the burden.

Almost.

--

Harry was jostled awake by someone sliding into the seat next to him, bringing a gust of cold air along. He blinked blearily and patted his pocket for his new spectacles, which had the exact same frames as the last ones. Malfoy hadn't let him hear the end of that, yet.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Hermione asked.

Still feeling fuzzy, Harry was mildly surprised that he'd fallen asleep, deep enough to not have felt Ron getting up. "That's okay." He propped himself up. "How long have we been driving?"

Hermione settled down more comfortably, "An hour or two, maybe longer. You missed Malfoy doing an impression of Terry Boot at a certain point."

"He did WHAT?" Harry jerked up with such violence the bus' interior spun.

Apparently very calm in the face of Harry's hysteria, Hermione elaborated, "I didn't catch it all. It seemed Terry and a few others of his friends were playing truth or dare. You know Malfoy; it was perfect to turn it inside out and make it sound as if they'd done something scandalous."

Harry sank back, feeling immensely relieved. Even though he'd accept Malfoy to be human didn't mean he trusted him. "Not surprising, that."

"Hmm. Obviously." Hermione said, giving him a shrewd look.

Staring outside, Harry pointedly avoided her searching eyes.

"So how's Sirius?" She asked lightly, pretending they weren't playing hide and seek with each other.

Grateful to have waylaid the inquisition for another short while, he answered, "About as well as could be. He hates being cooped up in the hospital. The only bright point in the whole thing is the nurse with the huge cleavage. That aside, the fact that Remus... well."

"Hm." Hermione hummed again, "So what after?"

Harry sighed and sunk low into his seat. "I don't know. They'll want to go and live together I expect. And though it's in the same block it's not… It's not-"

"It's not with you." Hermione finished for him.

"Yeah."

There was a short silence in which Harry gnawed at the nail of his thumb and Hermione had her eyes narrowed in deep thought.

"So you'll be alone in the apartment, then?"

"I think so. I'll probably have dinner and stay the evening at Remus' flat, but I'll go to sleep at our place or something like that. No matter how I look at it, it'll have to be something like that. Sirius can't stay at our place alone. Whether he admits it or not, for a while at least, he'll be helpless. Remus has taken leave just to be with him, and keep an eye on him. And if the two of them weren't- er. Well. Then they'd probably stay in our apartment. But now that they're... together, they'll like a bit of privacy, so the both of them will settle at Remus' place. And I don't want to begrudge them that; but-" Harry made a little noise of frustration and leaned his head against the cold glass of the window.

Hermione patted his knee. "Sirius is not going to forget about you, Harry."

"I know, but if the three of us are going to have to live together, it'll have to be in a bigger house, which is probably only a realistic option when he's healed." Harry said, feeling utterly unable to put this in a more positive light. "It's just going to be so weird."

"Harry," Hermione said softly, catching his need to just being able to let it all out, "It's going to be different, but therefore not bad. Considering what happened, he's been very lucky."

"That's also it, how will I ever be able to get through a day when I know he's out there on his motorcycle again? He was this close to... to-"

"I know. It was awful, but everything turned out quite alright, didn't it? And besides, if you really do feel weird in the apartment alone, Ron and I can stay over quite a lot; we'll keep you occupied."

Harry smiled weakly and indulged Hermione patting his knee some more. He realized he was being almost territorial over Sirius. Then again he'd been his only family for such a long time that it probably spawned the need to keep his godfather exclusively to himself.

In one simple word, he was jealous.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all to be away for five days, after all. It would give him time to come to terms with the changes and he could sort them out in his own head.

Around them the other students chattered, laughed and generally made a lot of noise. He could hear Ron and Seamus quarreling over who got to play on the Nintendo DS first, even though it belonged to Neville. As Ron rose his voice in playful challenge, Harry turned to Hermione and asked a bit awkwardly, "So. Er. You and Ron are, eh, okay now?"

Hermione's brown eyes flicked at him and then she proceeded with hiding most of her face beneath her curly hair, "Well, yes," she said, trying to sound casual, "I think we've managed to sort things out a bit. You know."

"Ah," Harry said, staring with great interest at the fraying fabric on the hem of his sweater, "So it was- was. Nothing to, ah, serious?"

Hermione got so red that Harry began to worry whether she might actually be choking. Then she said, "No. Only- _you know_..."

"Oh," was all that Harry got out. Frankly, he didn't _you know_ and thought he'd rather keep not knowing.

As he sat mulling it over, the knowing or not knowing or whatever, his eyes watching the landscape speed by, he became aware of a warm weight settling against his left. Hermione had fallen into a half-sleep, curling up on the seat next to him.

It is a sort of animal comfort, touching other people, and Harry felt himself go calmer because of it.

No, these five days would be alright.

--

The door of the chalet creaked as someone poked his head inside. A shaft of winter sun cast a large rectangle on the ground. "Hey, guys, ehm, I-"

"What's up Neville?" Dean asked. He was inspecting the cabinets above the tiny kitchen. There were just enough appliances to microwave something, to heat water, to make coffee and a tiny fridge to keep something cool. Obviously they were not supposed to make actual dinner for themselves; they would be eating in the main house.

When there was no answer, Dean looked away from the cabinet contents and over to Neville instead. Harry stood next to him putting lemonade in the fridge after having switched it on. With the two of them standing at the counter, they overwhelmed the kitchen already. If Harry wanted to turn, he'd have an elbow fight with Dean.

"What's up, mate?" Dean repeated.

Neville closed the door behind him. For a moment he stood, uncertain and then he moved to the tattered, soft couch. He sat down as if he'd gone boneless. "Is there any chance I could sleep with you guys? I just got sorted in with some guys who happened to have a spare spot, but they- well, they're not really my type to make friends with."

It was an elaborate way of saying they were picking on him.

"I've defended myself, but-" he shrugged, "I just don't feel like quarreling for the rest of the week."

Meanwhile Seamus, Finbar, Hermoine and Ron had joined them, crowding the chalet.

"You're welcome, but we're one bed short," Hermione said kindly, face making a small frown.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Neville said quickly, "I don't mind."

"It'll kill your back," Harry told him, "we can take turns. I'm sharing with Finbar, so tonight you take the couch, and I tomorrow, and so on."

"Thanks Harry," he said, looking enormously relieved, "I'm going to get my bags!" He dashed out the door, racing away under the trees.

Hermione was shaking her head, "I can't believe his roommates aren't even trying to get along with him. This is all about trying to get us all to respect each other."

"I don't think everybody is taking it as seriously as you Hermione," Seamus said with a grin. "If they expect people like Harry and Malfoy to get along just fine, they're in for a disappointment."

Ears burning, Harry tried to grin at Seamus, failed and then just quickly grabbed his bag and went to unpack it in his room. It was a small rectangle of a room, with two beds separated by small night-stand. Dust danced in swirling patterns in the beam of golden light that the window emitted. The closet on the wall opposite of the beds groaned ominously when you tried to open the doors. Harry half expected to have either handle, door, or both torn off in his hand before the end of the stay.

He was digging in his bag for his toiletries when Finbar came in. Harry could almost feel him move through the room behind him, his unease heightening his awareness painfully. Coming up behind him, Finbar patted Harry on the shoulder, almost brotherly, but said nothing. The silence stretched on, but Harry was too mortified to look the other in the face. He knew his face was as red as a stoplight. When it became downright awkward, he straightened up, turned, and looked Finbar in the eyes, expecting some sort of confrontation.

Finbar was leaning against the windowsill, grinning down at him. He opened his mouth and said, "Which bed do you want?"

Feeling utterly confused, Harry said weakly, "The one by the window, if you don't mind."

Either he was paranoid, or Finbar was much sneakier than he had ever had him pinned down for.

Half an hour later, the seven of them trudged down the leaf-strewn path towards the main house. Upon arrival all students had gotten the number and keys for their chalet. They were given half an hour to get their belongings in place. Then they were to re-assemble near the main house for the first activity. They had decided that Finbar was the one who got a key, along with Hermione. The most responsible two, as it were. All around them they could see other seventh years exciting their chalet, some still squabbling over possession of the keys, leaving in groups of four or six.

Trailing along, but letting the conversation rush by, Harry's eyes were casting about for a certain- _there. _

It appeared Draco and his friends were five chalets further down from them, close at the edge of a creek. All of them were dressed in the same sort of attire: clothes that were comfortable, but allowed to get dirty. But for his jeans, Draco was dressed all in black like a burglar, complete with black knitted beanie. Despite his earlier nagging, he looked happy. He had his arm around Alex, who was pestering Nott by stepping on the back of his sneakers. Blaise trailed behind looking amused.

"I wonder what we'll be doing?" Ron said, coming up next to Harry.

Tearing his eyes away, he replied, "Bonding activities, I reckon. Group-related social activities, group-debates about embarrassing taboos, the usual fun stuff."

Ron snickered at Harry's completely flat sarcasm. "I won't be surprised what with you and Darragh in the group they'll have a debate about homosexuality. To increase toleration and inspire a wider scope of view."

"Looking forward to it," Harry said with painfully forced cheerfulness.

--

But, as it were, the first activity was neither of those things.

Madame Hooch was standing, as usual, with her hands on her hips, expression stern. When they'd gathered by the main building, they'd taken a rather long walk through the forest until they'd come upon a clearing. A few other teachers were already there, big plastic bags by their feet.

"Listen up!" Hooch shouted above the general noise, "The first activity is quite simple and meant to break the ice a bit, as well as to get you all moving after sitting in the bus for over three hours."

At 'moving', most of them groaned.

"It's quite simple; first, we're going to divide you into two equal groups, sixth and seventh years mixed." She proceeded to do just that, ushering them all about and forcing them to mix and separating cliques. After general milling about, the pupils stood like sheep into two opposing groups.

"Next, one group will get ribbons. These ribbons must be tucked somewhere securely, so you won't lose them while running around, but loose enough that they can be yanked away." The teachers came up to one group with the plastic bags. Inside each was a mix of ribbons, diverse colors clashing.

Harry was in the group that got ribbons, and he collected a gold and red striped one from McGonnagal, who looked particularly funny in her tartan patterned Wellington boots. While he was tucking it through a belt-loop in his jeans, he observed that Darragh was being helped by Luna Lovegood. She was pulling his green and silver ribbon through his belt while her own blue and bronze one was loosely hanging out of the end of her braid. He wondered whether she'd considered the possibility that someone might accidentally grab her braid that way.

"Now, it's quite simple, the group with the ribbons will go along with Hagrid in a few minutes. Now the principle is simple; the ones going with Hagrid are supposed to try and reach this spot again, without losing the ribbon. Of course, those without ribbons will have the time to spread out while you all are going. Evidently, you are supposed to catch the ribbon-group. When you manage to take away someone's ribbon, you have turned him or her into a fellow catcher. You are to hold hands (terrible groan from all pupils at this point) and try and collect more ribbons. When you are a group of four, you split up in pairs and continue separately.

"Is that clear?"

Half-hearted muttering rose up from both parties.

"Good. Afterwards we'll switch, and the catchers will get a ribbon. Each round takes about an hour, starting and ending on the signal of the whistles. Okay, let's start, catchers will stay with me, the other can follow Hagrid. And play fair!" she added menacingly as both groups started moving.

Harry followed along after Hagrid, Dean and Hermione by his side. Blaise and Alex were somewhat further up, long green and silver ribbons fluttering behind them. They were with quite a large group and Harry recognized a few vaguely from classes. Most he didn't know at all, though, since they were probably sixth years. The deep pack of leaves covering the whole forest floor made walking quite a chore and soon Harry felt the tingling combination of ice-cold fingers and nose, even while sweating inside his sweater.

"Ere we are." Hagrid said after quite a while. "Everybody still get their ribbons? Good. Jus' a minute now." He blew the whistle so hard that everybody had to cover their ears against the shrill noise that pierced the crisp air. He waited until there was a faint response in the distance before turning back to them. "Alrigh', now I'll blow two times and yer'all supposed to get runnin'. You should head in that direction." He pointed to where they'd come from, making most of them roll their eyes at the obviousness of that statement. At the lack of enthused response, he simply blew the whistle, two times in sharp succession, without further comment.

Everybody sprinted off at full speed through the trees, kicking up a flurry of leaves.

Harry followed a bit more sedately, keeping the one hour time limit in mind. He banked away sharply to the right, hoping that he'd be able to circle around the biggest barricade of catchers that way. Soon he'd left the others behind and found himself alone in a forest that was stripped of all its greenery. It was a surprisingly mild winter day, not warm, but with the sun touching the normally drab colored surroundings to vivid reds and warm browns. The sky was a clear blue, visible through the skeleton crowns of the trees. At the moment he was quite chilly, and his breath made small clouds in front of him, but if he had to run, he'd get warm in no time. His fingers tingled in the sun and his toes began to get used to the cold.

He checked his ribbon, which fluttered like a bright scrap of color behind him. Harry had a dark brown sweater on, so he blended in rather well. It felt strange to actually realize he was here with the school, doing activities to improve tolerance and all that jazz. He wondered if the professors truly believed that this would yield results.

Padding ahead softly, Harry felt more than heard leaves crunching underfoot. He was getting quite chilly and he curled his fingers into the holes of his fingerless-gloves, pressing them against his palm. He seemed to be utterly alone. He began to wonder if he'd veered away too much, since he seemed to be quite by himself. No sooner had he formed that thought when someone sprang from behind a cluster of trees, making Harry dart away like a frightened deer. Mindless, he raced away, swiveling through the trees, his pursuer hot on his heels. He didn't have time to look who it was, but from the brief impression it was not someone he knew. He ran until his lungs protested, even though the other had already given up on catching him.

He stood catching his breath laboriously, head between his knees, blood making his ears pound. Just as he was regulating his breathing someone spoke up suddenly, "Hey there, Harry."

Harry immediately sprang away, realizing he'd been quite stupid letting his guard down like that. He lurched some steps away, disoriented, but risked looking over his shoulder.

Terry Boot smiled reassuringly at Harry and held up his hands in sing of surrender.

"Oh, er, Terry. Hi." Harry got out, cheeks burning at the thought of their last encounter.

His blonde curls mostly hidden by a baseball cap, Terry lowered his arms and flashed his charming, dimpled smile at Harry again somewhat shyly. Still feeling bad for what had happened at the pool, Harry gave him a crooked one of his own. Looking at Terry made him think about kissing and bare skin touching and the utter shock that had followed. He wondered whether Terry knew that he was sorry.

Meanwhile Terry was approaching and was within an arms-reach when Harry noticed Terry didn't have a ribbon. At that exact same moment Terry lunged for him, and Harry nearly fell over his own feet in a hurry to get away.

"Bollocks!" He heard Terry grunt when he grabbed air.

Harry sped off, not bothering to say anything, marveling at how clever Terry had been. He didn't dare contemplate what would have happened had Terry caught him and they'd had to hold hands. He might have been mortified enough to chew his own off at the wrist to avoid re-enacting a scene resembling the one from the pool.

The blonde had not bothered tracking Harry, for which he was grateful. Slowing down to a more manageable pace Harry pressed himself onwards, figuring he'd ought to hurry up before the time was up. Jogging through the trees, a stitch in his side, he figured he must be getting closer, at least. He could hear shouts and laughter from somewhere to his left, so he began turning away, looking worriedly at the source of the noise.

To his right, a branch snapped of a bush.

He heard it too late. There was a rustle and next thing he was knocked over by two bodies before he even had the time to look at the source of the sound. He sprawled on the ground, his sweater having ridden up so leaves got plastered against his stomach. Sand in his mouth and blinded by dirt, Harry felt someone grappling for his ribbon. He struggled earnestly, jerking and twisting, even got to his knees but was pushed down again. He bucked, got a surprised grunt and scrambled away. He was about five paces away, when someone said happily, "Too late, Harry, we've got your ribbon!"

Stumbling to a halt, he turned round, lungs screaming with the lack of oxygen.

Ron was laying spread-eagled in a circle of disturbed leaves and sand, having obviously been the one to have the pleasure keep him down. Darragh was kneeling next to him, face covered in dirt and twigs in his hair, looking like a goblin, twirling the red and gold ribbon smugly.

Harry sat down where he was, trying to recover. He rolled his eyes feebly at Darragh's elaborate display of tucking away the ribbon so it was out of sight.

"You okay, mate?" Harry asked when he got his breath back.

"Just fine," Ron said thinly, "but if I'd known you'd put up such a fight, I'd have let you go."

Picking themselves up, the three of them locked hands, Ron in the middle. It seemed Ron had caught Darragh earlier on, as the latter had been one to attempt to race through in one go. Together they'd gotten two others afterwards, who had gone on on their own.

"Nice try, Harry," Darragh piped up, "but too careless."

Harry kicked playfully at him, but nearly got Ron instead. The three of them tried to make progress as stealthily as they would, which was useless since the three of them made enough noise to alert the more careful ribbon carriers. Leaving a trail of trampled vegetation in their wake, they cast about for victims. Navigating a forest proved not that easy with three walking abreast and often they stood milling around when there were some trees packed together, not sure who should proceed and who should follow.

Then Harry saw someone who'd been unfortunate enough to carry a bright red sweater make an attempt to sneak past, about a stone's throw away.

"There," he breathed and squeezed Ron's hand. In utter silence he nodded his head towards the person turned prey. As if someone had pulled the trigger to give a start shot, they sped off, yelling all sorts of stupidity, causing the guy to squawk with surprise and start to flee. Running hand in hand proved to be terribly difficult with obstacles all around and Harry had to make sure he didn't get carried along into a tree.

For a moment it looked like the other might get away, being alone and unburdened. But they gained on a relatively tree-less stretch and threw themselves at the red sweater bloke. They barreled his over like an inverted version of bowling where there was only one pin and three balls. The leaves were tossed up in a flurry while they rolled over the ground, grabbing the wrong people, body parts and all sorts of other unidentifiable objects.

In a tangle of screams, swears and grunts, above which Darragh was cackling madly through it all, they finally got hold of the blue and bronze ribbon.

"Got it!" Ron wheezed, punching his fist in the air. The three of them stared down on their hapless victim, triumph glowing on their faces for a brief moment.

Kevin Entwhistle glared balefully up at them.

Their was a shocked silence.

"If I'd known we be getting _him, _I'd have let him go," Darragh said sourly, echoing Ron's earlier words. He stood up, batted at some leaves that clung to him and got a particularly vicious expression on his face.

It was obvious Entwhistle was as thrilled as them, but too afraid to comment on the fact that he'd been caught by the two resident queers. After all, he remembered as well as anyone else that Potter had nearly boiled Micheal Corner alive with his eyes alone and had proceeded to successfully maim Draco Malfoy the very same day.

Ron, sensing impending disaster, spoke up, "Okay, I'll go with Entwhistle, then."

"Yeah, I think that would be best," Harry said hesitantly, not keen on letting Ron having to put up with the bloke.

"I'll see you, Harry," Ron said with an enforced sense of normality, pulling a reluctant Kevin along.

Having to prompt himself out of this sudden anti-climax, Harry took Darragh's hand and headed resolutely in the other way. They were not quite far enough away to hear Kevin say, "Yeah, I'll bet the two of them can't wait to be alone."

Harry whirled around to give him a piece of his mind, but Darragh anchored him, planting his feet and using all his strength to hold on. "Let him go, Harry. He's not worth it," he said tiredly.

Still glowering after the retreating fiend, he was mildly placated when he saw Ron elbow Entwhistle viciously and then yank his arm so sharply that it was surprise it didn't come clean out of the socket.

Pulling Harry along, Darragh headed through some tightly packed shrubs, putting distance between them.

"I don't understand how you can just shrug it off like that!" Harry exclaimed, thoroughly angered now. He narrowly ducked a branch that Darragh carelessly let go.

Darragh glanced at him apologetically and said, "If you plan on fighting every guy who flaps out trite like that, you'll end up fighting the whole world," he smiled and raised his eyebrows, "besides, you're just awfully temperamental."

"I'm not!" Harry protested, frowning.

"Of course not. You just hit people because it's fun," he snickered at Harry's dark expression and continued. "You're just one of those people who is extremely keen on righteousness and fairness. You're a goody-two-shoes and you can't deny it."

"I'm not! A goody-" Harry spluttered, "I'm not!"

"Yes, you are. Just like my brother," Darragh said calmly. His face always got a very specific sort of look when he looked at Harry. One Harry found hard to decipher. They seemed to have stopped and just stood contemplating each other. As usual it came with a now almost natural easiness. Somehow with Darragh gazing right in his eyes, Harry did not feel awkward, even for a prolonged period.

Both of them tensed, ears straining as there was a faint noise in the distance.

After a moment they walked on. "You're one of those blokes who ends up saving the world had you been a character in a fantasy book. Harry Potter and the Dark Lord of Doom. Or something like that." Darragh continued, his voice getting cheerful.

"Oh, shut up," Harry said, wringing his hand.

"The Chosen One!" Darragh decided. "Sound about right to you?"

Harry didn't bother replying because right then they came face to face with a sixth year girl who had a black and yellow ribbon tucked in her pocket. They stared at each other in surprise before the chaos erupted. Darragh was immensely fast. As the girl turned tail and ran, he lunged forward, pulling painfully at Harry's hand, and snatched away the ribbon.

"Dammit!" The girl exclaimed as she reached for her ribbon, but Darragh held it up in the air, "And I was so close, too!"

"Sorry sweetheart," Darragh said, sounding anything but sorry.

She made a face at him and scrunched up her nose in protest. After one last attempt the steal back her ribbon, she relented and offered her hand.

"What's your name?" Harry asked as he took her hand.

"I'm Jacqueline," she said and flickered a smile up at him. Then she looked past Harry and said, "Hey Darragh. Got caught some time ago or just?"

"No, nearly at the beginning, actually," he conceded, looking wry. His hair was still full of twigs and bits of leaves.

Jacqueline nodded and made an expansive gesture with her free arm at him, "I told you it wasn't a good plan."

"Hush. My plans are always good," Darragh informed her gravely. "They hunted me like I was some sort of animal. I'm traumatized, so start feeling sorry."

Shaking her head she ignored him.

Harry shared some tic-tacs he'd in his pocket as they navigated through a more bushy part of forest.

They walked on in silence for a bit, sucking the minty candy, before Darragh piped up, "Feeling sorry yet?"

"Terribly." Both Harry and Jacqueline dead-panned, startling each other.

Some ten minutes later, they walked into the clearing just as Hooch was abusing her whistle again and the screaming noise tore through the winter sky. The few birds that were left took off in startled flocks, indignant chirping following them. Harry gratefully let go of his companions' hands, the one that held Darragh's almost muddy with the mix of sand and sweat that had mingled while the other was nearly frozen by Jacqueline's cold fingers.

Darragh proudly deposited his collection in one of the plastic bags while Harry sat down in the tall grass. He was sweating and knew that he should keep moving or put on a sweater, but his blood was rushing between his ears and he felt the need to calm his body down. At the very last moment they'd tried to capture someone again, but they'd been too outdistanced to reach him before the whistle call.

He watched how all the fellow peers tickled in, most breathing laboriously and covered in dirt and twigs and rotten leaves. Ron rejoined him a few minutes later, looking thunderous. There were smears of dirt covering up most of his freckles.

"Entwhistle?" Harry asked knowingly.

"You have no idea. What a little runt," Ron said sourly, as he plunked down next to him, "the thing is he's so very convinced that it's hard to get seriously pissed off. He means it! I have no idea how someone can be so blind..."

"Ah, well. He probably thinks the same about you, wondering why you would risk your ticket to Heaven by hanging out with a sinner like me," Harry said thoughtfully.

For the moment, he just didn't want to think about it anymore. Instead he lay back in the cool grass, eyes unfocused on the sky above him. Ron sat in thought besides him, solid and wordless as a rock.

The others trickled in and joined the pair sitting on the grass. Out of the people he knew Dean was the only to have gotten past without losing his ribbon. He sat accounting his great adventures and the hot pursuit that had ensued in vivid detail somewhere near Harry's head. Ginny was trailing a blade of grass over Harry's neck and jaw, tickling him. She looked pretty, a hand-knitted Weasley jumper in tones of red setting off her hair which was styled in pigtails. Just as they were called on for the second round, Harry grabbed the neck of her sweater and stuffed a handful of grass down her t-shirt. He was rewarded with a rather painful punch to the shoulder.

The other team had been distributed ribbons a few moments ago and left, heading to the destination spot. Now it was their turn to spread out amongst the trees and attempt to capture as many of them as possible.

With the sound of the whistle still ringing in their ears, the catchers set off. Once more Harry headed in a random direction, leaves scrunching under the soles of his converse shoes. His stride was more deliberate this time for he had a purpose.

Ever since they gotten the explanation for the game, Harry had something churning around in his head. While he was probably taking it a step to far... well, he didn't care. It seemed he was unable to do anything but react to what his instinct told him. It was a constant burning sensation that was really starting to drive him crazy and he just had to alleviate it. It was beginning to burn.

This was worse than any other experience he'd had with crushes. No. Not just a crush anymore. He did not dare searching himself for what it had become instead, but it was something that was bound to be a painful experience. Especially considering earlier confrontations with the subject of his... frustrations.

Yet, for all his misgivings he set out through the trees, wrapped up so deeply in this train of thought that he didn't even heard the whistle announcing the start.

It was when he saw the first person streak past, ribbon fluttering behind that he realized they'd begun. Well, he was clearly not just looking for _any_ victim. It didn't quite occur to him that it might be an empty venture since the forest was quite big and Malfoy could have honestly headed about anywhere. Yet with perfect confidence he prowled through the trees, looking for black beanie and a pale face.

He encountered a few more people with ribbons, but made no pursuit. Once he recognized Blaise Zabini crouching in the distance next to a thick trunk, silent as a cat, eyes intent on an unsuspecting sixth year.

Heading further away from the main battlefield, he scouted for the edges of the terrain, thinking that Malfoy's way would be the sneakiest way.

Keeping parallel with a fence made-up of barbwire, which must've been there to indicate the boundary, Harry walked on. He trudged around for what must have been half an hour when he began to think that if he didn't take action soon, he'd catch no-one at all. Coming to the edge of a clearing with high, tawny grass that swayed lazily, Harry figured he was way off course and had better re-trace his steps.

As if Fate was orchestrating everything after all, he hesitated for a mere few seconds. It was then that he saw him.

In the middle of the field another catcher was waiting, like Harry, for others who'd thought to sneak around. Approaching him was Draco Malfoy, confident like no other, striding in the general direction of the other bloke. The long grass hid anything lower than mid-riff and thus where his ribbon must've been.

"Haven't caught anyone yet," he said offhandedly, almost annoyed, "you won't either if you stay here."

Harry could see the suspicion play on the other person's face. But, Draco played his part well and even when the catcher jogged a few steps after him, for an instant certain that the tall individual was not a catcher, he didn't break out in a run. Giving him his back with all the arrogance he possessed he passed out of the grass into the trees, leaving a very confused catcher behind him.

Though, Harry, who had sunk as low as he could without sitting down noticed the scrap of green and silver that dangled from the blonde's belt. Draco was ahead of him now, but not yet out of reach if he pulled a good sprint. His heart hammered loudly against his chest, almost as tangible like the balling of a fist.

Taking his time, he stood up silently and trailed Malfoy, waiting for a stretch with fewer trees. He knew the other was fast, as fast as him if need be, so he'd have to choose his moment with care. Eyes trained on the thin frame of his victim, he stalked him with an intent that banished all else from his mind.

They passed through a stretch where the sun lit everything in fiery gold when a twig snapped loudly under Harry's foot.

Malfoy whirled around, spotted Harry and kicked of in a sprint, all in the single space of a single breath.

But Harry was already gaining the fullest of his speed and he raced after him. Malfoy was fast and sneaky; he'd look as though he'd take a sudden turn, causing Harry to copy him, only to head for the opposite direction. It was pure luck that Malfoy lost his footing in a shallow pit that was covered with foliage. He staggered, loosing his momentum. Harry forced himself, muscles straining and sprang like lion.

He got Malfoy somewhere around the knees and the both of them landed flat on the ground. The breath knocked out of him, Harry grappled with the struggling Draco and managed to locate the ribbon. Triumph lanced through him as he yanked at it.

Only to find that Malfoy, cheater as he was, had put multiple knots in it.

"Malfoy you cheat!" Harry growled breathily.

The tussle that ensued was comical at best. Draco attempted to crawl away, while Harry hung on doggedly, tearing at the scrap of fabric with all his might. He gave up when Draco was starting to wriggle out of his grasp and turned his attention to getting him under control. Cursing, snarling, pushing and pulling resulted until Harry managed to get the blonde in a headlock. He was half on his feet again, his arm around Malfoy's neck, the blonde's head facing Harry's behind. Malfoy's hands tore and pushed at him, at his stomach, his ribs, his waist and anywhere he could get at him from his unfortunate position. With his free arm Harry picked at the knots -not just one, at least four- with difficulty, as they were tightened by his earlier pulling. He was losing strength when finally the first came undone and cheered by that small success he managed, sweating profusely, to get the others undone.

The moment the last knot came undone, they pushed away from each other, overwhelmed.

"Bloody hell, Potter," Draco gasped, spitting out bits of leaves and clutching his chest, "bloody hell."

Wordless, Harry sat down, head swimming. Eventually he keeled over, the ribbon wound securely around his hand.

Draco staggered a few paces away and sat on the roots of a tree, thoroughly breathless. Dirt and scraps of moldy plants covered him form head to toe.

"I-" he panted, "-had no idea you... were... that persistent."

Flapping an arm in response, Harry tried to still his shrieking gasps for air. Something with six legs crawled down his neck, but he just couldn't do anything else but fight for air. The blue sky seemed to ripple like water above him. They stayed in silence for quite a while, wordless with exhaustion.

Eventually Harry managed to get into a sitting position and squashed the insect that had made its way into his sweater with a slap. Still panting, lips dry, he glanced at Malfoy once more.

The blonde had composed himself by now, though his chest still rose and fell rapidly. He was regarding Harry with his usual smirk and when he saw that Harry was looking back at him, he dusted himself off and stood up. "C'mon, Potter, if you perish here, I don't think anyone will believe me when I tell them you ran yourself to death. My only option would be to bury you in a shallow grave and fake ignorance. Not that I would mind terribly much, of course."

Harry slowly got to his feet, light-headed. It did not help that Malfoy took his hand, a cool and steady contact that made Harry's head spin even worse.

Together they left a faint trail of disturbed leaves trough the forest. Harry, on pretense that he still hadn't gotten his breath back, used this strange, surreal moment to study him. The first time he'd ever clapped eyes on this person, he'd looked almost impossibly, faultlessly, divinely handsome. That very same person was right beside him now. Yet Harry came to the strange realization that Malfoy was no longer as handsome to him anymore. That seemingly stark beauty had faded drastically, but had left something that somehow hit Harry a lot deeper than before.

Malfoy's face was too angular, too narrow, too pale. His high cheekbones made him seem fierce. His eyes and slanted eyebrows gave him an unyielding look, unapproachable.

And his mouth.

Wide and thin lipped and always, always in that mean little smile.

By now Harry recognized that it was just some sort of strange, lop-sided grin of his that just happened to look mean. Most of the time it was meant to be, of course, but now it was just a quirky smile.

Malfoy's eyelashes were strangely devoid of color. And, now that he was close enough, eyes not blurred by tears nor by rage, Harry could see the faintest smattering of freckles across the bridge of Malfoy's nose.

He looked uncompromising, mean and every bit as cunning as he was.

Malfoy noticed Harry looking, raised both his eyebrows mockingly and Harry was sure that everything he felt for the git must've been clear on his face.

"Don't worry about it, Potter," Draco said in his lazy drawl, "I'm used to being roughened up by you by now."

Breathing a little easier Harry wondered what he should say to that. Instead he choose the usual inane topic of conversation, asking a question to which he already knew answer, "So who are your roommates?"

"A harem of exotic dancing girls, Potter, the usual, you know. How about you? The savage and the uncouth? How about the weather today? Nice temperature for a dip in the sea, isn't it?"

Smirking wider at Harry's frown, he continued in a lazy, pleased way, "Dear God, Potter, spare me. I preferred you when you were shrieking for breath. On to a more interesting topic, has done Boot anymore _grabbing_ lately?"

"What's it to you?" Harry asked, suspicious.

"Excellent black-mail material, for instance," Malfoy said happily, "added with the extra benefit of humiliating you."

"Of course," Harry said with a shake of his head.

Malfoy gave him a wicked grin, "Where did your horrible spectacles go by the way?"

"In the chalet," Harry answered, "I don't want to ruin another pair by knocking over random people."

"Yes, because that would be such a _shame_, wouldn't it?" Malfoy said, raising his eyebrows in a supercilious air, "Anyway, back to Boot."

Harry groaned and used all his strength to crush Malfoy's hand.

The blonde gave a gratifying wince and glanced down at their linked hands. Harry's was still white-knuckled, Malfoy turning redder by the second. He got a very pleased sort of look on his face, "I'm holding hands with Harry Potter. Ha! I'm the envy of the whole school. I hope we'll see Boot. If I'm lucky it'll make him cry. Or grab you again. You never know."

"Can you stop talking about Terry and grabbing? You have an unnatural obsession with this whole grabbing business," Harry said and made a mental memo not to tell Malfoy about how Terry had nearly managed to capture him.

"Ah, Potter. Maybe you should grant Grabby Boot a chance. You always look so surly and aggressive. Especially aggressive. Perhaps this grabbing business, as you so eloquently put it, might be the making of you yet," he gave Harry a long and thoughtful look.

Harry let momentarily go of Malfoy's hand to cover both his ears, "I'm not listening to you anymore. You're crazy."

"Oh, will you hush," Draco said, eyes suddenly intent and glittering, he took Harry's hand again, "there's someone there."

Suddenly Harry became aware of the face that he had not, in fact, landed in some strange sort of limbo world where he was all alone with Draco Malfoy and had all the time in the world to bicker with him. No, truth being cruel as always, they were still participating in a game where they were supposed to look for people with ribbons. They must've walked farther than Harry had thought because there were rocks underfoot and the trees looked stunted and weathered.

Malfoy pulled him along stealthily until they were in the shadow of a protruding rock. They were at the edge of a slope, which led down to a dried out river bed, its banks covered with gravel and dead branches.

Trying to ignore about how Malfoy's shoulder was pressed against his, Harry let his eyes follow the blonde's pointing finger. Walking along the dry river bedding was a younger looking boy, carefully picking his way through the debris. Hanging from his waist was a green and silver ribbon. He was not far ahead from them and apparently thought himself utterly alone.

Almost at once they rose and both tried to go in a different direction.

Malfoy turned to him, blinking. Harry tried to pull him along again, down the slope so they could come up behind the bloke if they made a good sprint. Shaking his head, Malfoy hissed, "Are you serious? We'll never catch him like that! We need to go around and cut him off."

"He'll get away before we manage to get there. No, we need to try and tackle him right now, or he might get away!"

Making an elaborate display of rolling his eyes, Draco whispered, "No subtlety, no cunning. You're always just head on, aren't you Potter? No comprehension at all for the mastery of stealth and cleverness," he shook his head mournfully, if as he truly despaired of him, "use what little brain you have Potter, look!"

He startled Harry by grabbing the nape of his neck and forcing his head to turn, "Up ahead the river turns back on itself! If we simply cross that small stretch of wood, we'll come up ahead of him!"

Numbly Harry stared at how the river did indeed make a sharp turn and how he could see the rocky banks in the distance through the trees to the left of them. "But what if he decides to get out of the river while we are gone?"

"He won't," Malfoy said with absolute certainty, "let's go."

Nearly pulling Harry's arm clear off, Malfoy dragged him along. Harry decided not to protest, even though he was pretty sure the bloke would get away. Apparently comfortable to be in charge, Draco pulled him wildly along and Harry was quite sure that more than once he tried to get Harry smack up against a tree. Together they winded through the small stretch of woods, the river bank coming closer once more.

As gravel crunched underfoot Malfoy suddenly halted, making Harry smack into him.

He granted Harry an annoyed glance, his pale face flushed and what little blonde hair that escaped the black beanie disarrayed. Proceeding more stealthily Malfoy cast about for a spot where they might hide until their victim appeared.

After a long silence in which only their breathing could be heard, Harry said, almost smugly, "I told you that he'd-" and then he stopped.

In the distance the other bloke had appeared, unconcerned he was waving a branch about hitting rocks and dead shrubbery.

Malfoy's face radiated superiority, then he mimicked Harry in a girlish falsetto, "I told you so, for I am Harry Potter and I have a mob of fan-girls and I am always right. Of course, I have no amount of brains whatsoever and, er, I am socially handicapped," he grinned lazily, "Anything else?"

"You forgot: and I think Draco Malfoy is a smarmy git who thinks he's God's gift to women. Which he isn't of course," Harry said mildly.

Malfoy wasn't looking at him anymore; instead his every fiber was focused on spying. The green and silver ribbon fluttered behind their prey, who was getting steadily closer.

"Okay, Potter, here's the plan, I will use this- POTTER!"

They weren't holding hands anymore, no, Harry was propelling himself ahead at neck-breaking speed, dodging rocks and branches by sheer luck alone. Malfoy was coming up behind him, screaming something along the lines of 'Potter you moronic imbecile'.

Of course, by now, they had made such racket that the ribbon bloke was trying to scramble out of the river, shock clear on his face. Of course, in the face of Harry Potter's stampede and Draco Malfoy's horrid torrent of vulgarity, it was an entirely natural reaction. Harry rushed up the banks with more ease and proceeded with lunging for the bloke.

Like with Malfoy, he got him somewhere around the knees and together they went down in a cloud of leaves. Harry groped for the ribbon, as he was pummeled by tiny vicious fists and sharp elbows. He used all his weight to keep him down, ignoring how the other started choking on leaves. The smooth fabric of the ribbon finally touched his palm and Harry started pulling with all his might.

At the same time, two hands grabbed Harry's sweater and pulled him of the other bloke. "Potter, for the sake of our freedom, let go of that poor kid or we'll both spend the rest of our lives in jail!"

"I got the ribbon! I got the ribbon!" Harry spluttered.

"Yes, bravo," Draco said with great deliberation, "and while we are all so very proud of you, did you really feel that you had to nearly kill poor Daniël here?"

Harry sagged to the ground as Malfoy let him go.

"The concept of 'just a game' doesn't mean anything to you? Dear me," shaking his head he offered the brown-haired bloke a hand, "don't mind the brute, Harper. Anything broken?"

Daniël Harper still seemed a bit stunned, his hair standing up in a nimbus of brown, decorated with mud and other dirt.

"I- er, I'm sorry," Harry said, blinking as he got to his feet.

"Now he's sorry," Malfoy said, dusting Harper down with a hand, "Come, Harper, speak to me. You're not dying are you?"

Harper, for the first time took a great screaming mouthful of air and got out, "I think I might be."

Harry, feeling a bit guilty, hovered around the both of them, "Oh. A-any last requests?"

Harper's eyes flashed, and a look that reminded Harry vividly of both Draco and Darragh and even Blaise Zabini flashed over his face. "Yes," he said and lunged for Harry.

Harry put up his arms to protect himself, but it soon became clear that Harper was not going to attack. No, instead Harry felt something slip through his fingers and next thing Harper was tearing away from him, the silver and green ribbon clutched in his hand.

Stunned, Harry watched how Malfoy went after him and caught up fairly easy. With flourish he re-claimed the ribbon and took a firm grip on Harper's hand.

Harry jogged up to them and said accusingly to Harper, "You can't re-take your ribbon! That's cheating!"

"But you are allowed to nearly murder them and run off without your partner? That's perfectly acceptable, then?" Daniël Harper said flippantly, "Have some decency, Harry."

Malfoy started laughing, throwing his head back in delight. Harry had a hard time not staring at how Draco's face transformed into something shining and perfect.

"I like this chap already. You tell him, Harper, Potter needs to be educated in the proper ways of interacting with people," he informed the brunette, then he glanced at Potter, still glowing and offered his hand.

As the three of them started walking, Harper said wonderingly, "Didn't you guys hate each other? I mean, I vividly remember Harry trying to knock your head through the tiles of the hallway. He owned you pretty bad."

Malfoy's smile left his face, "One, Potter was not owning me at all. I was letting him so his fragile ego wouldn't be bruised. Secondly, Potter needs anger management. It's all a very delicate issue. Now let's speak about something else. Terry Boot for instance, are you familiar with him, Harper?"

"Enough with the Terry Boot!" Harry yelled at him.

"Stop throwing tantrums, Potter, it's unseemly." He was informed gravely.

"What about Terry Boot?" Harper piped in.

"Nothing about him!" Harry growled, "There's nothing to say about him! Malfoy will you just drop it already?"

Draco smiled happily.

Harry turned to Harper again, "And you! Aren't you a little too young to be a sixth year? How old are you?"

Harper gave him an indignant look, "I'm turning fifteen, I'll have you know. And I was allowed to skip grades because I'm _smart_. Unlike _some_ people," he gave Harry a pointed look.

Looking as if he had suddenly discovered there was such a thing as heaven, Draco said to Harper, "I like you," he informed him graciously, "I'll make you my protégée. I feel there will be a very bright future in store for you."

Harper returned the gesture by smiling in adoration.

Glowering, Harry decided that Harper and he were not going to be friends.

Ignoring him, Harper and Malfoy were chattering away. Trudging along, Harry fumed in silence and wished he'd let Daniël Harper get away. Overhead the sky was the clearest, brightest color of blue and the whole forest was abuzz with tiny forms of life. Looking around, thinking about how strangely magical this place was, Harry tried not to appear to be sulking. The two of them ignored him for quite a while, until, suddenly, Draco moved his thumb over the back of Harry's hand. Belatedly stilling the sharp intake of breath, Harry looked up at him. Malfoy gave him a companionable wink.

Stomach doing flip-flops Harry tuned back into the conversation, just as it was getting interesting.

"Say, do you know Asteria Greengrass?" Harper was saying.

Draco bit his lip as he thought about it, "Daphne's younger sister? Yes, I believe I know who you mean."

Daniël gave him a roguish grin, "She has the biggest crush on you, you wouldn't believe it."

Smiling his lazy, pleased smirk, Malfoy said, "Of course she does. Who doesn't find himself with a crush on me at least once in their lives? It's only natural."

Sotto voce Harry repeated, "Not God's gift to women."

"Oh, hush, Potter," Draco said, "don't hate me because I'm beautiful."

Looking skyward, Harry yet again came to the conclusion that the safest answer was silence.

"Besides, what do you have to be jealous about?" Malfoy went on, "There's a constant mob of impressionable young ladies running after you, poor things who can't see past your good looks and the madness that lurks in your beady little eyes. And there's Boot. Can't forget Boot," he added with a smile.

"So you think I'm good looking?" Harry dared to ask.

Malfoy gave him another strange look, "I have eyes, don't I?" he said in a 'Potter, you incorrigible dim bulb' sort of way, "but I did say that you do not exactly possess the stablest of minds."

"Stabler than yours," Harry returned feebly, trying not to feel too good about what Malfoy had just admitted.

Malfoy bumped shoulders with him in a re-approving way.

Hiding beneath his fringe of black hair, Harry tried to hide his blush.

--

Hours later Harry found himself sitting at a table for twelve in the main house. All manner of conversing was forsaken for the sake of shoveling food in their mouths. After the ribbon-catching game they'd done all sorts of smaller activities, most of which Harry felt he'd failed. During the 'letting yourself go limp and let your partner catch you' activity Harry knew he'd done badly. Twice he'd let Morag McDougal fall because he'd been jealously observing Malfoy and Harper.

No he didn't like Daniël Harper at all.

Even now he was drawing way too much attention to himself. Malfoy and his friends were seated a few tables further of Harry and between Neville's and Finbar's heads he could see Draco smiling indulgently every once in a while at Harper, who was making a fool of himself. Thankfully once or twice, Blaise had said something cutting to Harper, putting him in his place.

Harry found himself suddenly very fond of Blaise indeed.

"I wonder if they're going to bother us any more tonight," Ron said, leaning back and resting a hand his bulging stomach.

"I sure hope not," Finbar said softly, "I have had quite enough of people who are as good as strangers touching me."

Even while being a social creature, it seemed that even Finbar had found today's happenings had involved a ridiculous amount of grabbing, touching and holding.

Harry watched Finbar, as one of the few vegetarians, gather the last scraps of vegetables on his fork and bring them to his mouth. Darragh was sitting by his side and was, in sharp contrast, gnawing a strip of meat.

"If you'd paid any attention you'd have known that they don't intend to continue after dinner," Hermione pointed out, dabbing her lips with a napkin, "also, they mentioned that there was to be a movie in a small hour. We don't have to, but they implied that they'd like us to socialize some more."

"What movie?" Dean asked, leaning back in his chair and draping an arm over Parvati's shoulders.

Hermione got a keen sort of look on her face and said, "Brokeback Mountain."

Ron looked at Harry and said, "What did I tell you? It's not a group discussion yet, but already they're attempting to manipulate us through a different medium."

"Is that the movie about gay cowboys?" Harry asked, recalling something vaguely.

"Yeah,"

"Joy," Harry said and sagged down.

Thus, it was so that an hour later they were all arranged in front of a surprisingly big flat-screen telly, watching two cowboys get it on. Harry and Ron had their heads stuck together and were playing cards. They were there, so the teachers could not complain. When the scene in the tent began, everybody looked up suspiciously, first at Harry, who was quite unaware of what was happening and then at Darragh. The latter was quite disappointingly sleeping, his head in one of his best friends' lap, who happened to be a pretty girl. As Finbar had once said, if it did not involve explosions, special effects, blood and a lot of noise, Darragh could not stay awake for longer than ten minutes.

Hermione was curled up against Ron's side, looking at the screen vaguely.

From up the stairs loud, blaring pop music came, a big part of the teens engaging in 'partying'. Once in a while pairs of fellow peers (almost always mixed sex) left to go upstairs, and even worse, sometimes to disappear for hours on end in the woods.

When it was close to midnight, Harry had already left once to try and go back to the chalet, but had found Ron and Hermione doing some catching up on their snogging. Harry had left in certain alarm and found himself burning time at the main house talking with everyone and no-one and feeling surprisingly alone.

Malfoy had left sometime earlier with Alex, which had made Harry feel truly awful and sick.

Girls were acting silly and kept inviting him to come up the stairs and 'have some fun'. If not that they were giggling and brushing past him and generally confusing Harry. Eventually he got fed up and started to think about Sirius again. Sirius and Remus, who were back home, without him around. And Malfoy and Alex, who had gone, like so many other couples, gone of together. He recalled how Alex had given him an affectionate kiss on the cheek and how Malfoy had gathered her close. He'd gotten a look on his face, one he'd never seen before. One he'd not ever even conceived Malfoy could manage. Tenderness. Love. Warmth.

Almost numbly Harry found himself suddenly outside, in the cold, walking the star-lit path back to the chalets. Thoughts raced one after another, the most prominent being of Sirius and Remus, kissing in the hospital, completely losing themselves in each other.

Besides the occasional burst of laughter are muffled noises, Harry saw nor heard anyone. He was wrapped up in himself, watching the white tips of his converse sneakers kick up skeleton leaves. He idly wondered what he would do if he walked in on Ron and Hermione doing much more besides kissing on the couch. Instead of following the main track any longer he veered between two chalets so he came upon the softly gurgling creek. The stars were bright dots of light here in the middle of nowhere, casting brilliant glints on the surface of the water.

As Harry passed Malfoy's chalet he strained his ears, unable to help himself, for a pleasure filled sigh and tender whispers. But all was blessed silence.

"Hey, stranger."

Harry nearly leapt into the creek with surprise and might've done just that if it hadn't been for a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"How- how?"

"How did I manage to come so close without you noticing?" Darragh elaborated for him, "I have no clue, I called your name several times, but you didn't seem to hear me."

"Oh," Harry said nervously, casting about whether there was anything else he'd completely failed to notice.

Darragh squinted at him, "Are you okay? You look a bit peaky."

Jerking a shoulder, Harry said, "Well, you know."

"Yeah," Darragh conceded, nodding, "how is he doing?"

"Recovering," Harry said flatly, "Remus is helping, of course."

Darragh nodded some more, he was studying Harry in a very thoughtful way, as if trying to read what was behind the brave words.

"Are. Er. Are you okay?" Harry asked softly, remembering how Darragh had caused Finbar to worry himself sick past weeks.

The brunette took a deep breath and said, "Better. Orion and I aren't... doing so well. It's my fault, I think. But his, too. I don't know." Taking a shuddering breath, Darragh looked away, shoulders hunching.

"Don't, Darragh, please," Harry said worriedly, not wanting to see tears on his friend's face.

"Don't what?" Darragh asked, looking up. His face was composed. He cocked his head sideways and said in a thoughtful tone, "Say, have you ever felt like you needed to do something. Needed to do it so badly that it hurt? And on one hand you're thinking that it might be the most stupid thing you'll ever do, but on the other you just know that if you don't, you'll regret it forever."

"Er," Harry said, the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly standing on end, "Yeah. I guess."

"Well," Darragh said softly and kissed him.

It was the merest touching of lips. Harry froze, his mind and reason abandoning him completely. Why did people keep kissing him out of the blue?

Golden eyes came back into focus as Darragh pulled back a little. They stared at each other for a few heart-beats. Then Darragh put his arms around him properly and tilted his head so he could kiss Harry deeper. It was a calm, deliberate sort of kiss, searching almost, as if Harry held a secret that Darragh desperately needed to know. One hand slid up his arm and cupped his cheek, fingers disappearing in Harry's thick black hair.

And at last, when Darragh shakily whispered his name, Harry returned the kiss with sudden force. It came to Harry, as he tasted Darragh's mouth and felt his teeth scrape over his bottom lip, that in that very moment, they were using each other. Using each other and it was alright.

Yet when Darragh kept holding on to him, one hand now firmly using Harry's hair as a handle, it did not feel like a lie. Darragh was warm against him, his mouth hot and slick and almost demanding. He could feel Darragh's lashes against his cheekbone, the thick soft hair brush his face. Their lips slid over one other, soft and wet, losing themselves for a precious moment.

The need for a proper breath was becoming urgent, so urgent that Harry felt dizzy by the lack of oxygen. They both pulled back, mouths trembling. Instantly, when he looked at Darragh's flushed face, Harry knew it was the only kiss they'd ever share.

Dazed, Darragh just leaned in and put his forehead against Harry's collarbone, "I'm sorry," he said in a raspy voice.

"No, you're not," Harry countered into his hair.

The other chuckled. It was a deep and utterly manly sound, "You're right. I'm not," he conceded.

"Potter? Po- GANAD?"

All blood drained from Harry's face. "Er," he said intelligently.

What were the odds?

"I- you, he! HAVE YOU NO SHAME?" Malfoy demanded. He looked rather white himself.

Darragh gave Harry one last squeeze and kissed Harry's neck tenderly. Then he stepped back and had the biggest, meanest smirk on his face, one that made Harry nearly flinch.

"Hello, Draco. Nice evening for a walk isn't it?" He said brightly.

Draco gold-fished at him, "You. You and- I," his expression became thunderous. "Potter, get over here, you imbecile!"

Wondering absently what was happening, quite sure he'd lost the grasp on the situation in one fell swoop, Harry did exactly as he said. As he reached the blonde (who appeared to be clad in pajamas) Malfoy hit him with all the force he could muster over the head with what appeared to be a newspaper.

"Ow, hey-"

"Silence!" Draco snarled at him, "obviously you are so utterly stupid that cannot quite function properly without me."

Darragh was still looking like some evil copy of himself, "Oh, he functions quite, well," he said with a small grin.

"You fiend," Malfoy hissed. "How can you go about taking advantage of people like that? And you! How can you be so stupid?" He demanded again, and swatted once more with the newspaper.

Harry was getting sick of this, "What is it to you? I can do whatever the hell I like! You act like I'm someone you command whenever you feel like it!" He shouted back.

Draco shouted right back in his face. "Because you are mi- m-my friend!"

"Mine friend?" Darragh said in a musing sort of way.

"Friend?" Harry echoed.

"Shut up!" he bit at the brunette, "Of course, you're my friend, Potter, don't be dull," he said viciously.

There was a silence in which Harry felt as if his head would explode, Darragh stood looking grinning and Draco glared at the both of them.

Harry felt obliged to point out, "What if I really like him? What then?"

"You don't!" Draco said harshly, "And I'm quite sure he doesn't either. Besides as your friend I have to look out for you and I've just determined he's no good!" He ended the conversation by grabbing Harry's shoulder and forcibly dragging him away.

Looking back, Harry saw Darragh standing there, a sad sort of smile on his face.

"And I though you said I should give Terry a chance," Harry said somewhat angrily as Draco hauled him towards Harry's chalet.

"I said nothing of the sort! Besides, Boot isn't such a- a-"

"A what?"

Draco didn't answer and walked on, fingers digging into Harry' shoulder painfully. When they came at the door, he jerked his head almost angrily for Harry to go in. Most of Malfoy's expression was lost in the darkness.

"What are you, my chaperone?" Harry said softly facing the door.

"If that's what I need to be," Malfoy responded, he was looking at Harry very intently.

Utterly confused with Draco close and angry with him for a reason Harry somehow failed to grasp and with Darragh's taste still in his mouth, Harry looked back at him. He wondered whether this was what it felt like to go crazy. He'd just had one of the best snogging experiences in his life, yet his whole body seemed to be aflame by Draco's mere presence.

"Go inside P- " Draco looked away and closed his eyes, "Just go inside. I'll see you in the morning. Six sharp, by the creek. Bring a football."

He whirled around and stormed down the path.

Harry stood, there, door handle in his hand and felt utterly lost.

* * *

Chapter title credits go to Utada Hikaru - Simple and Clean (Kingdom Hearts, anyone?)

Yay update! Thank you all for still supporting me, even though it takes me such a long time to get a chapter up. Those who keep nagging that I should be faster because I'm ruining the story with my utter 'slowness', please don't, it's very rude. Besides, I am aware of this.

Those who send me sweet, polite PM's and reviews, you guys are the best. And rest assured, how long it might take, I will finish this story. Thank you all, I really do appreciate it and would love to see more where that came from!

A deep bow for my sweet and lovely beta, Jules, who is, as always ready with steady stream advice and the nightmare of all my typos!


	17. Vertigo

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J

Disclaimer: I do _not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs.  
But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Chapter Seventeen – Vertigo**

_"I'm sorry!" -Draco Malfoy_

Blaise...

Blaise...

"Blaise, wake up!"

A sudden jerk pulled him from the realm of dreams. Blearily looking as the hand still shaking his shoulder, his eyes headed up until they met with a figure In the dark.

"... I... what? What?"

There was very little light but he could vaguely see someone's silhouette outlined in faint tones of blue and gray.

"What? What is it? Alex?" He propped himself up on one elbow and peered at the illuminated hands of his wristwatch. "Please tell me... what is so important -and it had better be very important- that you feel the need to wake me up at six in the morning while I could still have two hours of blessed sleep?"

Alex made a bouncing motion, jogging the bed, and whispered anxiously, "Draco's gone out!"

"Draco's gone out what?" He echoed, utterly befuddled. Still disoriented from the ungentle waking, Blaise blinked at her in response.

She put her face closer to his, "Draco's gone out!" she said again. "Why would he go out at six in the morning? It's still dark!"

Blaise leaned his head forward until their noses nearly touched and dead-panned, "He's met a nubile wood-nimph during ribbon-catching?" He smiled when Alex grinded her teeth and glared at him before continuing. "He did seem awfully chatty and cheerful after that. Maybe they planned a secret rendezvous?"

"_Blaise..._" She hissed in tones of utter exasperation, "I'm serious!"

"What? So am I."

"Oh, you utter wanker," she muttered and sat instead of kneeling on the edge of the mattress. "I want you to go with me to check it out."

"What?" Blaise said a tad to loudly and cast a worried glance at Theodore, who was sharing the room with him. The other snored on in glorious oblivion. No, he didn't have to deal with half-dressed young ladies who wanted to go exploring in the early hours of the morning.

Cutting his hazel eyes back to Alex he demanded, "What part of six in the morning, which is god-awful early by the way, did you not understand?"

"Oh, Blaise, please? Just a peek? I want to make sure he's not going to do anything crazy."

"It's Draco Malfoy you're talking about; it's bound to be something crazy. Besides, he's a big boy, he can look after himself." He rubbed his eyes and yawned again. Chasing after one of his closest friends was the last thing he wanted to do.

Alex put her head on his shoulder and pleaded, "Pretty please? I just want to make sure... you know how he can be. I'm just awfully worried... I wouldn't be able to sleep not knowing what he's gone to do."

"Ugh," Blaise groaned, realizing she'd caught him in her net and was reeling him in. "Okay, okay... just, give me a moment."

In the darkness Alex leaned over and pecked him on the cheek, "Thanks!" and shot out of the room like a hummingbird on acid.

"Why me?" Blaise whispered to himself and slid his legs to the edge of the bed. He was relieved that it was chilly enough in the chalet that he had needed to wear both jumper and trousers. Normally, even at this time of the year, he slept nude. He hated having to wear clothes in bed. Shirts twisting around one's torso and the legs of trousers riding up until they knotted around one's knees. Awful. Besides at home it was always nice and warm in his room and the feel of the smooth fabric of the sheets could never be beaten by pajamas.

And here, of course, there was Theodore who was in the same room with him. Awkward, that. So unfortunately, trousers it was.

Rumpled and bedraggled, he made his way out of the room quietly. He closed the door with a soft click behind him and made for the door. In the meantime, Alex had donned a thick hooded jumper. The sight of the shapeless garment hiding everything from view but for her bare legs sparked something deep inside him.

"Hurry! Hurry!" She urged, sticking her naked feet in a pair of ratty shoes.

Blaise threw on his jacket and stepped into his shoes, Alex tugging on his elbow all the while.

The cold hit him like a punch in the face. Alex' teeth promptly began clattering.

"He went to the creek!" She whispered into his ear.

He shivered, not completely due to the cold and tried to follow her example of walking stealthily towards the gurgling stream. Of course every step sounded like a herd of elephants crashing through the trees at an hour like this. Even breathing seemed too loud.

They did not have to go far. Blaise halted her and pointed towards a dark figure standing quite some way further down the stream. Going any closer would be to risk discovery. He was dead certain that Draco would not appreciate being spied upon at six in the morning so he kept a generous distance.

Standing still and watching, the winter bit at their exposed flesh and tried to freeze them to their very cores. Alex's teeth chattered so hard that Blaise was sure Draco would hear them. He put his arms around her and was surprised as Alex immediately latched on to him, pressing herself against him.

Maybe it was worth getting out of bed for, after all.

Alex's legs looked painfully pale in the light of the moon and her eyes luminous. She shivered as if she was trying to shed the very flesh from her bones.

"Brr..." She said softly, burying her head into his shoulder.

"Yeah," he replied, the word barely as loud as a breath.

He was about to suggest returning inside before they turned into human ice cubes when they heard the distinctive crunching of someone walking through dead, frozen foliage.

"You're late Potter."

"I'm sorry... Finbar woke up."

Blaise felt his jaw go slack.

Alex whispered smugly, "Nubile wood-nymph indeed."

"What did you tell him?" Draco could be heard hissing anxiously.

"Er. Yes. Eh -that I couldn't sleep and needed to take a walk," Harry Potter said in hushed tones.

"You're the king of brilliant replies, aren't you, Potter?" Draco replied in a manner that suggested that he might just hit him over the head with a branch. "Pray tell, you _did_ bring a football, didn't you?"

"...yeah."

"Well then, let's go."

The two of them walked off, attempting to make as little noise as possible.

Blaise and Alex stared at each other then back at their retreating backs.

"I can't believe it!" Blaise nearly shouted once they were out of ear-shot. "Do you think they-" he trailed off, wary of finishing that sentence.

She shook her head. "No," she whispered and then more loudly, "Let's follow them!"

"Whoa-" Blaise grabbed her by the cuff of her jumper as she darted out of his arms. "Whatever they're up to I think we should respect that they went through all the trouble of getting up this early to have some privacy."

"But I want to know what they are talking about!" She whispered, eyes sparkling.

"No," he said simply and draped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her along. "Besides, you might just expire from the cold, dressed like that."

They entered the relative warmth of the chalet again, kicking off shoes. Sitting down with their backs against the heater, shoulder to shoulder, the two of them contemplated what had occurred mutely.

After a while Blaise said softly, "Potter?" in such a way that made Alex turn to stare at him. His eyes were lidded as he stared off into the distance. "Potter, huh."

"Yeah," Alex acknowledged, "but when?"

When I was too busy courting you for us to notice, Blaise thought. After all, what _had_ Draco been doing while Blaise had made a point of taking up most of Alex's time? And how? What had made it come about?

"Do you think we should confront him with it?" Alex asked him softly.

He glanced at her. "Well..." he said quietly, "I think it's his business and, at the moment, not ours. If we talk to him about this now, he would probably react badly. Especially since it seems as though they went out of their way to plan this. He must really consider Potter something of a friend then because, after all, he'd be doing it so Weasley doesn't notice and blows up on Potter. In a way that is awfully considerate of him."

"Do you think it's because of us?" Alex asked in a tiny voice.

Blaise's face suddenly got warmer, "What do you mean, 'us'?"

There was a charged silence.

"Well," Alex said in a trembling breath, "we've been spending an awful lot of time together. Maybe he feels ignored. He's very sensitive like that. Doesn't do well being all by himself."

"Hmmm..." Blaise said, tasting his heart on his tongue, "you think we've spent too much time together?"

"No," she said quickly, "no, of course not, just, we haven't really included him, have we?"

Blaise wanted to hit himself. Always Draco. She was so blind.

"But it's nice, the two of us, different than with Draco," she continued in a rush, studiously not looking his way.

He looked at her tiny frame, the crazy tangle of dreadlocks, the small face with its freckles and white eyebrows and eyelashes, the over-sized jumper, her bare legs and feet. She had a pair of girl's boxer-short on in dinosaur print. Her hands were tangling over and over in the fabric of her jumper.

"How different?"

The reward for coming out of his bed at six in the morning was her blushing a somewhat unflattering red that made her freckles stand out. She hid her face behind her hair.

"Just different," she stood up suddenly and gave him an almost angry look. "I'm going back to bed."

Before he could retort, the door of her and Draco's room closed with an indignant snap. Huddling in the darkness, he couldn't help but smiling to himself, his belly awhirl with sensation. He wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his head on them.

He might have just made more progress in that very instant than all his other efforts combined.

He'd have to remember to thank Draco later.

--

Letting out a hearty yawn, Harry opened his eyes again just in time to see th ball flash past him and disappear into some shrubs. Groaning, he chased after it.

"You know, Potter, you didn't need to show up if you didn't want to," Malfoy said coldly from somewhere behind him.

"Stop being so sensitive," Harry said tiredly. "It's not even seven in the morning and I slept poorly."

He fished out the ball and kicked it back towards Draco.

The blonde intercepted it with flourish, tipping it up and bouncing it on a knee. "I bet," he said darkly.

"What?" Harry tilted his head sideways. Draco was still bouncing the ball, switching between knees. "What did you say?"

"Nothing."

Sighing in frustration Harry wondered what had happened. They had been getting along so well and now Draco was being difficult and almost his old unpleasant self. Ignoring the part that he was actually spending time with Harry which did not involve any sort of physical pain. Yet.

Something occurred to him. "Is this still about last night?"

"What about last night?" Draco echoed in a bland, irritating sort of way. He was still hogging the ball.

Marching forward, Harry re-claimed the ball with one graceful swoop of his leg and made a point of getting in Draco's face. "You mean Darragh and me," he said getting straight to the point.

Draco's eyebrows went up in a fashion that suggested he found Harry quite silly and could not believe Harry found himself that interesting. "Besides the fact that it still remains one of your dumbest choices in life ever, it's none of my business what you and Ganad are up to behind closed doors."

"There's nothing going on!" Harry exclaimed and ran with the ball in the opposite direction. He'd been hoping to get his mind of the whole event by have a nice game of football, but Draco just had to go and push his nose into it. As if what had happened with Darragh wasn't confusing enough! Sure, he liked him. Loads! And he might have been all over him if there hadn't of been a certain pain in the arse. Because said pain in the arse made him quite forget about Darragh. Made him pale significantly in comparison, even.

He kicked the ball around on his own, angry and yet strangely hurting.

With a vicious hit the ball flew off and disappeared into the morning darkness. He stared in the direction it had went off and then just sat down, ignoring the painful cold creeping up his spine and numbing his behind.

"I know," Draco said as if answering to something and somehow making sense. He'd appeared abruptly next to him, startling Harry badly. Using the ball as a precarious sort of stool, he sat next to him. He must have gone to fetch it while Harry was brooding.

"So, what do you think we'll be doing today?" Draco asked him, the change of topic sounding strained to the both of them. "I fear it may be another variation of 'grab-random-people'. Though that campfire thing they mentioned yesterday seems rather nice. I've never done that before." Draco mused, making a triangle of his fingers and rubbing his joined index fingers against his lips, "Sitting around a campfire, I mean."

Harry shrugged, "The campfire might be nice, only they said it was almost more than half an hour's walk away from the chalets and it'll be a late night at that."

"Where's your romantic soul, Potter? Come on, now. I think that campfire will be quite worth it. It's a pit filled with huge, real, crackling, all-destructive fire, what could go wrong with that?" Draco asked happily. He said 'fire' the way others would say 'cute, fluffy, baby bunny'.

A smile came to Harry's face and he realized Draco had worked himself around Harry's anger. He answered in tones of rueful amusement, "If you're a pyromaniac, of course, it'll be a blast."

They both snickered at the horribly lame pun.

Harry's smile was slowly fading when he noticed Draco giving him an intent look. There was a strange sort of half-smile on his thin lips.

"What?" He asked, hands going up self-consciously to his face.

The other flapped a dismissive hand at him. A chilly easterly gust of wind blew clumps of white blonde hair into his face. Still avoiding Harry's questioning eyes, he turned his face into the breeze.

When he looked back at Harry he was smiling again. "Would you take a whiff of that." He breathed in deep.

"Uh. Whiff of what?" Harry asked, successfully distracted.

Draco nodded his face eastwards and the blonde hair was tossed away from his forehead.

Feeling a bit weird Harry took a careful breath through his nose. He made an uncomprehending frown at Malfoy.

Draco stood up, a tall, dark figure in the dark light of dawn topped off with a white halo of hair. "The sea, Potter," he said a bit exasperatedly, "can't you smell it?"

Standing up next to him, Harry concentrated on tossing the ball up with his foot. When he caught it, he replied, "I haven't ever actually smelled the sea before. Let alone seen it."

"What?" Malfoy put a hand on his shoulder, "What child has never gone to see the sea?"

Harry gave him a dark and half-annoyed look, "Considering what happened the first time I went to see the sea, I don't think Sirius could quite bring himself to do it."

He could see comprehension dawning on Malfoy's face after a few seconds along with a touch of pity.

Turning away from that face, Harry tried to smile as he said, "Besides, it's just a big puddle of polluted water. I've watched the Discovery Channel. Nothing special." He hated the surly undertone in his words.

Malfoy stood looking thoughtful.

"Still," he said after a while, "Every child should be able to see it. Even though your parents died trying to take you there. It's not like going to the sea is now jinxed in some truly horrible fashion."

Harry shrugged in an irritable way and Draco took the hint and dropped the issue.

The rest of those early hours were spent bickering and talking nonsense, kicking the football between each other. When it neared eight, they headed back. Though they didn't run, it was unspoken that they wanted to make it back before anyone saw them.

They walked up the path that ran parallel with the chalets in silence. They stopped when the path split, each going in a separate direction.

Draco turned to him, apparently to say some sort of goodbye, when another voice spoke up first.

"Harry! There you are! I've been looki-" Ron began, but the sound ceased even though his mouth kept moving.

Next to him Hermione exclaimed in tones of utter shock, "Malfoy?"

There was a horrible moment where Harry felt as though he had fallen through an oubliette, tumbling over and over. Ron's face changed, subtly, and Harry opened his mouth to say what might have been the dumbest thing ever.

But just as he took a shaky breath, the world tilted and he stumbled. Landing on his arse, Harry raised wondering eyes up at Draco even though his head throbbed.

Malfoy had thrown the football at him with all the force he could muster.

"Next time you go for a game of football, be sure to stay the hell out of my way!" Draco snarled. It was as if his voice had become spitting pure venom. Harry recoiled just at looking at his face.

"Harry!" Hermione went down on her knees next to him and tentatively touched his temple.

He winced, hissing. His cheek and ear were burning and the cold breeze seemed to rub it raw.

"Shit!" he exclaimed.

Draco sneered down at him, took one look at Ron's livid face and decided to make a run for it. Ron tore after him.

"Ron! Ah-" Harry cupped his hand over his cheek and watched his best friend chase after Malfoy. If he could catch him, Harry knew what Ron would do and his head throbbed at that thought as well.

Hermione's face came into view, "Are you okay?" she asked anxiously. "I can't believe he did that!"

Me either, Harry though, but realized that Draco had just grabbed onto the first solution he could find. Simply shouting and flinging insults would not have been convincing. Only the furthest extreme would have sufficed. His left eye was tearing uncontrollably from the impact, and he could feel the blood pulsing in protest all over the left side of his face. The impact had been enormous.

Hermione was studying him. Lips pursed and brown eyes shrewd, she suddenly asked, "What happened?"

It was as if somehow she had been able to pick the treacherous thoughts out of the rubble inside his head.

He stared at the ground, "I was mucking around with the ball and, eh, I must have kicked it too close to Malfoy for his liking." He got to his feet, "I don't know. You know how he is."

She just frowned and looked him dead in the eye.

Harry just concentrated on walking back to the chalet, letting her guide him using his elbow.

--

An hour later, Harry was one of the last at the main house for breakfast. After what had happened he didn't have the appetite and the whole left side of his face throbbed in angry protest. Matters had been made worse when Ron and Malfoy had been caught fighting, pushing each other around and screaming their arses off. Someone had alerted the teachers before it got any worse than that, but the damage had been done. Ron was still being chastened, along with Malfoy, and the rest already had gone for breakfast while Harry had gone to first aid for some ointment.

The hall was more or less deserted and the breakfast buffet was all but plundered. Harry salvaged what he could and turned to look for somewhere to sit.

As luck would have it, Darragh was sitting near a window, his back turned to him.

Hoping he wouldn't be overcome with awkwardness, Harry went over to him.

"'Morning," Harry said as he took the chair opposite of him.

Darragh's spoonful of cereal landed somewhere against his cheek. "Sodding-" he grumbled, as milk and flakes of cereal slopped onto his jumper. His face flushed a brilliant red and he kept his eyes averted as if looking at Harry meant turning to stone.

It was strangely flattering to see loudmouth and the king of innuendo speechless like that. Harry smiled and said, "Cat got your tongue?"

Darragh flushed a bit brighter but managed to say flippantly, "Not a cat, no..." he turned to look at Harry.

There was an instant of shocked silence as Darragh worked his jaw.

"Bloody hell! Harry, what happened to you face?" Darragh's eyes were as wide as saucers.

Now it was Harry's turn to look away, "Got into another fight with Malfoy."

"What. Wait," Darragh made a peculiar motion with his hands, as if he were trying to erase Harry's words from the very air, "What?"

"Just that!" Harry said a bit roughly, "just another fight with Malfoy! Nothing new!"

Mouth open a bit, Darragh squinted at him through narrowed eyes. Sarcasm was abundant as he said, "Yeah, right. Whatever. You don't have to tell me what really happened, just don't bother trying to lie. You're horrible at it."

Harry poked his scone around half-heartedly. Damn Malfoy. Damn him.

Darragh leaned back into his chair and studied him, "Stop looking so wretched, you're tearing me up," he said in a soft voice.

"I don't look wretched," Harry muttered. He pushed the scone away and crossed his arms.

"Yes you do."

Not bothering to argue, Harry just stared morosely out the window. It had started pouring by the buckets outside while they ate. It looked to be another fabulous day.

"Harry-" Darragh began in ominous tones.

Harry talked right over him, "That the activity for today?" He asked, nodding at the blackboard.

When he glanced back at Darragh, the other was giving him the evil eye, "That's right. Slither right out of it. Ignore my wisdom. Your loss." He sat back and crossed his arms.

Harry looked back at the blackboard, hiding a flicker of a smile. "Real impressive that. With cereal all over you."

"That's your fault to begin with, young man. Sneaking up on me like that," Darragh gave him one last annoyed look and sighed deeply.

Harry glanced at the board again. It said 'Capture the Flag' as main activity and further more only left instructions to dress according to the weather and that they would have to pair up in four groups according to the ribbon colors they had yesterday. That meant red and gold for Harry.

"I really hope we're not going to chase after flags in weather like that," Darragh said softly, leaning his chin on his knuckles. He was eying Harry as if he was worried he might explode.

"Me either," Harry responded and let himself comforted by the fact that, even though there might be tension between the two of them for quite a while, Darragh was not about to avoid him because of what happened.

--

As it turned out, the weather wasn't letting up. If anything, the rain seemed to come in heavier sheets and Harry walked huddled into his scarf, hood of his vest pulled down over his eyes. He was surrounded by the other people who had red and gold ribbons yesterday, which came as a relief, because they were all people who's company Harry enjoyed. Ron and Hermione were there, along with Dean, Seamus, Neville, Finbar; everyone in their chalet.

McGonagall was leading them deep into the woodlands, tartan umbrella included of course. Somehow she still seemed every bit as dignified and stern as usual.

Harry wondered if she knew where she was going.

Apparently she did, because she suddenly halted and said, "Here we are."

To Harry, 'here' seemed every bit as similar as every single piece of the miserable, damp forest.

"Alright," McGonagall announced loudly, quelling chattering instantly. "Let me tell you what the rules of the game are. You are all familiar with capture the flag, I imagine? Each team has to capture the opposition's flag, of course and return it to their own base. This game is somewhat similar but we've decided to add a bit more of a challenge to it."

Apprehensive glances were exchanged within the students.

"Everyone has been split into four teams. In order separate the groups, each of you will be receiving one of these." She retrieved the bag she had instructed Colin Creevey to carry, opened it and allowed the students to peer inside.

Harry shared a frown with Neville. Inside were a bunch of what appeared to be lions' heads, printed on laminated paper. It was a very noble sort of print, the beast with its jaw wide open in what seemed to be a ferocious challenge, made in tones of red and gold.

"Meow." Ron said.

Harry snorted.

McGonagall gave them a quelling look. "You are the Lions," she announced. "Each of you, please take one. Have someone help you pin it to the back of your sweater between the shoulder-blades where you yourself can't reach it. Mind you, pin it on lightly so it can be yanked off later."

Finbar rolled his eyes in a way that meant, 'I knew it'. Of course, everybody had sudden doom scenarios of another 'grab the ribbon' game.

Ignoring their alarmed expressions, McGonagall continued, "Everybody finished? Perfect. Now, here's how to play. There are four groups, based on the colors you had yesterday. You are the Lions. The others are Snakes, Badgers and Ravens. Each group is given a team flag to protect. The first group to collect the most flags wins. The game ends. But here's the catch: others can yank away your individual flag. If you lose your flag you are disqualified and no longer part of the game. The more of you get caught, the harder it gets to go after others' flags and the more risk there is of losing your own. The team flag cannot be moved. You will choose a spot and there it will stay. We will be staying nearby to make sure this rule is followed."

Her gaze passed over skeptical faces.

"Mind this. Lions catch Ravens. Ravens catch Badgers. Badgers catch Snakes. Snakes catch Lions." she pursed her lips. "Any questions?"

Hemione's hands shot up with such force she made a small hop on the spot.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

Hermione was in tactical mode. "What about Lions and Badgers? Doesn't that mean they are harmless?"

McGonagall nodded approvingly and looked as if she wanted to reward Hermione with extra points. "Very perceptive, Miss Granger. That is true. However, remember that the Badgers have a team flag you need to try and capture. So the less of them there are, the easier for you. But, no, directly you can't harm them."

Harry could see the wheels in Hermione's head turning.

Before he could help himself, he wondered what group of people would be apart of the Snakes.

--

"Alright team!" Draco hollered from where he was standing on a tree stump.

"Here he goes," Blaise muttered to Alex.

Alex grinned in response, dusky face beaded with rain drops.

"It is absolutely vital that we win this. VITAL! Our honor depends on it. It's a matter of them or us. Ever lasting peace or total apocalypse. Life or death." Draco shook his fist in a rather over-zealous manner. "We shall win this! And why shall we win?" He cast a querying look about. "Harper?"

"Because we have a blonde genius as our leader?"

"Nice try, and while it's true, it's not that." Draco said, glowing in the face of cheap compliments. "It's because we are the Snakes. Snakes are cunning. Smart. Versatile."

"Venomous." Alex dead-panned.

"That too," Draco said with a gracious inclination of his head, "but most of all cunning. Professor Snape, bless his black heart, has left us enough hints to know what we're up against. Davis! Have you gathered the information as I asked you to?"

Almost involuntarily, Tracey saluted, "Yes, Sir. Eh. Draco. Mafoy. Yes." She gathered herself with a shake of the head, and recounted as someone who had learned a lesson by heart, "Blue and Bronze have Terry, Michael, Kevin, Padma, Lisa, Loony Lovegood and Kasper as most potent members. Red and Gold have Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Finbar, Lavender, Potter, Parvati, Dean and Seamus as notable members. Black and Yellow are all losers. There's just Justin, Megan, Hannah and Suzan. We have nothing to fear from them."

"Excellent Job, Davis! This information is vital! Everybody commit those names to memory and know what they mean to us."

He leapt down from the stump, excitement ablaze on his narrow face. "Right! Be on your guard for those who are Badgers. Professor Snape generously let it slip that they are Black and Yellow. Lions are Red and Gold. Ravens are Bronze and Blue. When we consider who those people are, we can only expect brilliant tactics from the Ravens. They mean no direct harm, but do not think of them as allies unless it is in our advantage. Even if they help out by getting a Badger of your back, do not hesitate to snatch their flag if there is an opportunity. They would do the same, most likely. Expect a defensive formation around their flag. Same with the Badgers; only go after their flag when their ranks are thinned out enough, or when there is absolutely no risk to yourself."

Draco smirked dangerously. "Crush every Lion you see."

Tilting his head towards Alex, but keeping his eyes trained on the blonde, Blaise whispered, "Is this the result of his night with Potter?"

She shook her head, subtly, "No, this is the result of his fight with Ron. And Harry. Sort of."

Blaise's eyes shot towards her face, surprised.

Hitching a shoulder, Alex said, "I don't know what happened exactly after we left, but did you hear he gave Harry a black eye?"

"But..." Blaise tilted his head some more, rain dripping from his hair into his eyes, "I don't understand. I thought-"

"Hey, I don't know what to think," Alex said, her mouth sour, "I really don't _get_ Draco sometimes. Or make that most of the time, actually. Though I'm quite sure it must've been some sort of his being unable to cope with a certain situation or notion or feeling or whatever. He's not exactly the bravest of the group here, if it makes him feel threatened-"

Blaise nodded, "-he snaps," he finished softly.

"Doesn't make it right though," Alex mumbled.

The two of them focused back on Draco's wild rant about their enemy's battle tactics, ploys they might use to deceive the snakes and so on.

Pansy cut through one of his rather far-fetched plans. "What is _our_ tactic, oh brilliant leader?" Pansy asked, pouting her full lips snidely.

"Funny you should ask that, Parkinson," Draco said, rubbing his palms together, "You and Greengrass are the diversion. Are you wearing a skimpy shirt underneath that jacket like I asked? Yes? Perfect. Whenever you seen anyone, just flash them with a glimpse of that. It ought to give them something to think about. Feel free to get rained upon so it gets a bit more see-through."

Pansy and Daphne cast each other sideways looks.

"Crabbe and Goyle," Draco said imperiously, "You two guard that flag with your lives. With you _lives_! Pulverize anyone who dares get close. Bulstrode, you walk the perimeter to keep an eye out for any who might try for our flag."

"Harper and Nott, you two run around trying to get as many Lions as you can."

"Zabini and Ladon, you are Recon-team. Go and spy on the others' base and strike if you have the chance."

He went on until he had given everybody a certain role. Everybody was steadily getting a bit more drenched and most of them were not exactly sure what to do in the face of Draco Malfoy's battle tactics. It was quite clear that to him they were at war with everybody else and he was more than willing to spill some blood to taste victory.

As everybody left to follow his orders, Draco gave Crabbe and Goyle some last minute instructions. "Bulstrode, you are in charge. Being the brains of this outfit I trust you to see that the guards are not distracted in any way."

"Whatever, Malfoy." Millicent said with a flap of her hand.

"Alright," Draco said, pulling his knit beanie over his wet hair. As he was walking of he turned around once last time, "With you lives." He repeated ominously. He had not quiet taken two strides when another voice spoke up.

"Say, oh, your resplendent leaderness, what is it I have to do?" Darragh asked him, make a face from under wet brown hair.

Draco paused mid-stride and looked around with perfect mystification on his face, "Why, what is that utterly annoying buzz I hear?" He cupped his hand theatrically around his ear, "How curious."

With a smirk he made to walk on.

Shrugging, Darragh said loftily to his back, "Of course, without anything to do, I'll set out to capture Harry. One way or another."

It worked like a charm.

Whirling on him with such violence it was surprising he didn't keep on spinning he leaned so close to Darragh until their noses brushed, "NO! Potter is mine. My catch. You- you run after Blaise. Leave Potter alone, you've done enough damage."

Darragh prodded a finger in his bony chest, "Talking about damage, what happened to Harry's face?"

Draco went quite white all of a sudden. He stepped back

"Damage indeed." Darragh spat," You're better than this Draco. He's not going to keep waiting for you while you happily use him as a punching bag!"

"Wait for what?" Draco snarled.

Already walking away Darragh yelled, "Think about. You'll figure it out some day." And he disappeared in cluster of wet bushes.

Draco was quite sure that if there had been a door to slam, he would have. Alas, bushes did not make good doors.

Words strangely rankling within him, Draco set off a bit more subdued in the opposite direction.

--

"I say we just spilt up in three groups and strike at their flags." Harry suggested.

Hermione slapped him over the head, "Is that your answer to everything? Think Harry, it will never work."

Their group was huddled together like football team having a pep-talk before the game. Rain fell onto the back of their necks.

Narrowing his eyes Harry answered. "Then we go for the Ravens."

Again Hermione threw up her hands, "We need the Ravens to take out a few Badgers. Not all the Badgers; we need plenty of those. They will take care of the Snakes. My suggestion is to draw everyone away from their flags and while they are preoccupied several of us might try for the flag. We can take out a few Ravens, to make it easier to get at their flag, but leave enough of them to take out Badgers. Then again, make sure to eliminate them when they get too many Badgers. There must always be a few Badgers in order to get the Snakes of our backs."

"You're making my head hurt, Hermione," Seamus said tiredly. "So we take them out, yes or no?"

"Both. It depends on the amount of Badgers."

"Gah." Was Seamus' opinion as he turned away, shaking is head.

"The sooner we get the flags, the sooner we win," Harry said stubbornly.

Ron was nodding his approval until Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, then he started shaking his head. Harry punched him playfully.

Seeing as Harry was going to do whatever his stubborn little head thought, Hermione told him and Ron to go and try to get flags, "Don't let anyone see your back if you can avoid it. Surprise will be your greatest strength. Nobody knows who the other is. Use that advantage."

"Sure," Harry said already prowling away, Ron by his side.

It turned out that getting at another team's flag was harder than it sounded. They almost got the flag Crabbe and Goyle were guarding when, at the last moment, they were noticed by some Snakes. In the face of that much brute strength they decided to retreat and maybe bargain with some Badgers for a temporary deal. Bit by bit they managed to match several faces to their respective groups, and managed to catch Su Li by surprise and relieve her of her Raven emblem.

After another encounter with Snakes, which included Harper the little snot, Harry and Ron got separated. Harry had a suspicion that Ron might have been sufficiently stumped by Parkinson's rain-dewed cleavage to get himself caught. Deciding on retreating to the base to see if Finbar was doing alright playing guard, Harry splashed through the wet leaves. Besides, Ron and he had agreed on meeting up again there when they got separated.

As it was, Finbar seemed perfectly fine. Of course he was completely intimidating, standing with his arms crossed like that and his hair in a tight braid. He had found a rocky clump that gave him the advantage of height as-well. He appeared to look like a human fortress.

"Any sign of the enemy?" Harry asked by way of greeting.

Finbar gave a shrug, "I've seen some movement at two o'clock, but nobody has actually tried to approach."

"Where's Dean?" Harry asked, knowing that he was nearby keeping an eye out.

"He's circling around. He went after Lisa a while ago, but I'm not sure he got her."

Harry leaned against a nearby tree. With a glance at his watch he decided that it Ron did not come back within ten minutes he'd go on alone.

He was soaked through, from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes and everything in between. Not even taking a bath with his clothes on would have been as effective. Cold, miserable and well on his way to feeling sorry for himself caused him to make a rather silly slip-up. Because, suddenly, Finbar spoke up.

"Harry, we need to talk."

The way he said 'talk' sounded to Harry like 'I'll strip you of your skin and wear it as a cloak if you have so much as touched my brother with a ten foot pole.'

"Eh. Talk?" Harry managed, scratching his cheek to hide the look of abject fear on his face. "About what?"

The flag still safely within his scope of vision, Finbar took a few steps towards him. Harry resisted the urge to take four backwards. He crossed his arms over his chest and had to grab onto every scrap of courage he had to try and not think about just how fit Finbar was under his drenched jumper. Fit enough to snap his neck and toss him into the waste basket, he reckoned.

"Yeah," Finbar narrowed his eyes a bit, as if he was sorry but determined to get this over with. Which would be so like him. "I think you now about what. I-I. I'm sure it's not any of my business, but if you'll keep this up, I'm going to have to-"

"Look I'm sorry alright!" Harry burst out, half angry, half desperate, "but Darragh kissed me first. And it was just one kiss. It'll never happen again. We. Ah-"

Finbar did a very slow blink. Then he shook his head as if coming out of a stupor. "Whoa, rewind that," he said, rolling his hand, "you _kissed_ my brother?"

"Er." Harry said again, realizing his horrid mistake.

"You kissed my brother?" Finbar repeated again.

Harry clenched his eyes shut, "Don't kill me."

"I- You, he - when? When?" He looked as dazed as Harry was feeling.

He racked his fingers through his hair, snagging into knots and snarls. It stood up in clumps for barely a few seconds as the rain beat down on it. "This wasn't what you were wanting to talk about, was it?" Harry said softly, making a face.

"I. No," Finbar shook his head, "I-I wanted to talk about Draco."

"Malfoy?" he heard his voice go surprisingly high. Clearing his throat, he ploughed on. "What? Why?"

Finbar seemed unsure what to do, it was clear he wanted very much to ask about Darragh, but was also willing himself to say what he had been planning on. Several emotions warred on his face for some heartbeats and Harry watched it crystallize into iron-clad resolve.

"Yeah, Draco," he said, sounding perfectly calm and composed. Harry marveled a bit at that.

"What about him?" Harry said, giving him a blank look.

Instantly the calm was whisked away to be replaced by something a lot darker. "Don't play dumb, please. I don't- I don't" he shook his head again, the long braid wagging behind him, "I know I'm butting in on something where-"

"Yes, you are," Harry said, lips pressing into a hard line.

"And I'm sorry," Finbar said, in his deep, warm baritone, "But I'm just worried. I like you, you're alright. I like you enough that I won't wring your neck with my bare hands for kissing my stupid brother." They both laughed, half-embarrassed.

"Just." Finbar put his fingers to his temples and pressed down hard, eyes squeezing shut. "Just the two of you. Draco. I mean Draco. You're both going to tear each other apart if you don't do something about it soon. And-"

"Look, you said it yourself," Harry felt himself go rigid with ice-cold fury. "It's none of your business."

Finbar nodded. "It isn't. But you are my friend, too. It's not something I'm telling you to do, its advice. I've seen this before, okay? And trust me, you will tear other apart if neither of you is going to give."

Scowling, "It's not going to be me," he said roughly.

Voice soft and reasonable, Finbar said, "I know and you shouldn't. I'm just trying to say that I'm not sure _he_ will."

"I don't want to talk about this. I don't care!" He wrenched himself around and strode away quite sure it was doing either that or clock him one on the nose.

"He does," Finbar said softly behind him. "I saw."

--

"I don't care!" Draco said snidely.

"I do!" Blaise bit back. "Lay off on my cousin or I _will_ hit you this time."

"BOYS!" Alex roared at them. "Can we please tuck away this whole big ego fest and try to get along? I finally thought that you had both resolved that other thing, whatever _that_ was." She said bitterly. Obviously she was still sore over not having been included on the previous time's details.

She just didn't have any idea how included she had been, Draco thought. Cutting his eyes sharply back to his friend and the glowering expression on his face, he said clipped tones, "Alright. Pardon my horrid mood. I haven't slept well."

Alex gave him a particularly awful leer, "All that running around and taking a fresh breath with a side dish of beating Harry's brain out tire you much?"

"As a matter a fact, it did," he declared dramatically, "tired enough that I don't want to talk about it any longer."

"Of course," Alex said in her special 'Draco Malfoy you're such a predictable git' voice.

Blaise voiced it out loud, as he was still rankled. "That's so typical of you. Stick your head in the sand."

Draco's nostril's flared haughtily. "I'd hate to disappoint, and besides," he leaned in close enough that his wet hair mingled with Blaise's, "pot, kettle," he whispered.

"Ouch, low blow," Blaise shot back, but by now he had started to enjoy their little clash of wills. Draco could tell by his smirk.

"Wanker," Draco returned without any rancor.

Alex was rolling her eyes so hard it was a surprise they didn't rotate straight out of her skull. They walked in silence for a while, their shoes making disgusting squelching sounds thanks to the amount of water in them.

There were times when Draco truly despaired of Alex and this was one of them. Sometimes she couldn't just drop a subject, even if pursuing it meant utter calamity for all parties present. If she though she was right, she'd continue to hammer a point home until it made Draco want to take a hammer to her head. And not the proverbial one.

"So, what happened, this morning?" She tried once more, "And don't give me that poppycock explanation about Harry's inept foot-balling skills. He's anything but inept when it comes down to balls..."

There was a terse silence when they contemplated this unfortunate choice of words.

When Draco thought skills, balls, and also Potter, he damned Alex to the deepest pit to hell.

"That brings some disturbing images to mind-" Blaise began.

"Don't!" Alex growled, in a I'm-determined-to-have-my-mulish-way voice. She turned back to Draco, and barked a stern, "Well?"

His cheeks still aflame, he said, "I told you. I woke up. The room was stuffy because you generate too much heat or something, so I went to take a breath. Enter Potter, skipping about with some football, nearly barreling me over and over-all being his obnoxious attention-needy self. I lost my patience and decked him. You know how I get without coffee-"

"Rubbish!" Alex yapped, her voice going rough and gritty and very not attractive, "We saw-"

Blaise clapped a hand in front of her mouth, having it seen coming, but was two words too slow. There was a deafening silence expanding in the gap between the three of them. She stood stricken, breathless at her own stupidity.

"We. Saw." Draco's eyes narrowed until they were malicious slits of gray, "Please. Do. Continue."

Biting her lip, she turned her big green eyes beseechingly to his, "Draco-"

"You spied on me," he stated it, his voice soft and vicious.

"I woke up when you left- I was worried!" Alex burst out. "I don't care if the two of you are friends-"

"Wait." Draco held up his hand and was immensely gratified when she snapped her jaw shut with an audible 'click'. "You woke up. How does Blaise fit into this?" He saw his best friend go rigid, sensing, knowing that he was out for blood, even if it meant striking at his two best friends to get it.

Hazel eyes wide, Blaise shook his head in a plea.

"I went to get him-"

"To get him," Draco repeated. He raised his brows and went on almost kindly, "No, you couldn't have possibly spied on me by yourself. You needed Blaise to do it with you."

There was a pointed silence.

"Strange how the two of you do everything together lately. Maybe I should switch rooms with Nott"-he turned away from Blaise's glare-"so the two of you can do _that_ together as well!"

It was low and he knew it. But Draco would be the first person to admit that he was not, in fact, a kind person.

"I don't-" Alex began.

"Shut up Draco," Blaise sneered, "I don't see what you're on about. It's not as if I like her."

Alex made a strange noise.

"I mean," he backpedalled furiously, "I like her. You. Alex. As a friend obviously."

Suddenly the conversation had gone pear-shaped _and_ turned inside-out, because Blaise found himself face to face with Alex, feeling his wits slip away through the panic in his mind.

"Oh."

"Yes," he turned to Draco, wanting very much to keep him included, and continued. "You're absolutely not making any sense. She's my friend. I could never like her that way. Ever."

The sound of Draco slapping his forehead echoed in the chill air for miles around.

"I see." Alex breathed through gritted teeth.

"Yes. Uh." Blaise stammered softly, wondering what had happened to the suave and charming gentleman he impersonated when having this kind of conversation with a girl. Looking at Alex' furious face, he was quite sure the gentleman had hung, drowned and shot his brains out. Simultaneously.

Draco was mouthing things at him, which vaguely translated to, 'you idiot twat! What are you doing?! Tell her! If you don't you're the biggest waste of space I've ever had the displeasure-' and so on.

But he didn't. He just stood there with his lips parted as Alex clenched and unclenched her hands exactly ten times.

"Right." She bit out. Her over-sized clothes hung off her frame in a wet disorder, her dreadlocks a right sodden mess. Her teeth were bared in an ugly snarl. "Right."

She advanced on him, two steps, and pushed him sharply against the sternum. "I've had enough of this!" she choked out. "Years! Years I've been mooning after you, like some lovesick airhead. I've seen you wrap other vapid bints around your finger with your pretty boy act and thought 'it doesn't matter. They'll never know him like I do'. And it was okay. I was okay with it. I didn't mind being just your friend, as long as it meant you were honest and not trotting some ninny charade for me. Then suddenly you _are_! What? Interested? Charming? Charming me?"

She threw up her hands in disgust. Draco was being ignored completely, but was still valiantly trying to jostle Blaise out of his shock.

"Fuck you," Alex continued quietly, her eyes narrowed and hurt. "If this is how you play, you're not worth it. Was it fun while it lasted, Blaise? Loved seeing the smitten look on my face and knowing that you could have me-"

Several things happened at once, Draco was miming stabbing Blaise repeatedly through the head, Alex was turning away and Blaise blinked, took in a great heave of air as he regained the ability the reason once more. Moving faster than he'd ever though he'd been able to, he grabbed handful of her soaked jumper and used it to haul her back towards him and kissed her hard.

Alex made an indistinct little growl which might translate into 'killyoudead'.

He let go, and Alex used the instant to try and hurt him somehow, but only succeeded into bruising his ribs. "What! You!" She spluttered.

Standing there with the rain pounding down upon him, looking at her standing there, was torture. Holding his hands out, almost as if in offering and letting the emotions sit awkwardly on his face, he said her name pleadingly. She was breathing to fast, her mouth open and red from the harsh attack. Then her mouth made a funny little shape and she _lunged. _

They went down, Alex straddling him. Next thing he knew, it was she who was kissing him, her hands curling into his hair almost painfully. He struggled to get a hold on her, to do something, but somehow his hands just slid around her, pulling her closer. At first it was all teeth and confusion -Alex was everything but a graceful kisser- but then the grip on his hair became a bit easier and they found how to curve their heads properly towards each other, exactly the right way, his hand pushing up into her blouse, and oh. Oh. Finally. Finall-

She was gone. He grabbed air. Struggling to push himself to his elbows, Blaise reached and- froze.

Draco had her around the waist and was saying almost sadly, "There is no use in killing him, Alex, honestly-"

Kicking air and wriggling in his grasp, she yelled, "I was kissing him you bloody moron!"

He dropped her as if she'd burned him. "Oh." He looked at Blaise, as if for conformation that she had not, in some way, had attempted to murder him in a way that involved lips. It must've looked pretty bad then. Trembling, he got to his feet and stood up.

In a huff, Alex brushed some leaves of her. With a last annoyed glance at the blonde, she turned back towards him. She smiled, blushed and took a step towards him.

"Oh no," Draco said, grabbing her sleeve, "if that was kissing, I don't want to know what you're going to him when you're not actually angry anymore. There is no way I'm going to let you copulate"-he ignored the sharp Draco! from the both of them-"in the middle of the woods."

"Let go, you big ninny," Alex said, yanking her arm back, "but I expect you're right, though."

Blaise tried to mask a fierce stab of disappointment.

"Nevertheless..." She reached out and touched him, lightly, on the cheek. Then her hand dropped, fished into his shirt and she pulled him close until their lips were nearly touching again, "Don't think I'm not angry with you anymore, Blaise Zabini. You had best be prepared to crawl." She said in a low voice, eyes boring into his.

"Dully noted," he returned, voice low, his lips whispering over hers.

She let go and spun on her heel. With smooth steps, she strode of until the downpour of rain blocked their view of her.

Hands shaking, he raked his wet curls out of his face. He stared into the direction she had gone, his heart on his tongue, his blood pulsing to its rhythm. It was the first time he'd ever felt so... vulnerable after kissing a girl. It was as if she'd violently stripped each layer of him, until just his core had remained. It was dizzying, terrifying and liberating all at the same time.

Shaking his hair out of his eyes, he turned to see Draco looking at him strangely.

"What?" He curled his hands to stop their shaking.

Draco shook his head and, to Blaise's surprise, was smiling. Genuinely. "You look like you've been knocked about your head with a sledgehammer," he said quietly.

"Feels like it," Blaise said.

"About bloody time, though," Draco said.

Blaise noted that Draco's voice was rather unsteady itself.

"Well," Draco shook his head, causing his wet hair to slide onto his forehead, "Well, I reckon I ought to go and try to catch that... flag," a hand came up to wipe the locks away.

Blaise could see the tips of those long, always restless fingers shaking from where he stood. "Do you need me to come with you?" He asked.

His friend looked at him, his eyes wide and scared and very blue. "No. I'll give it go myself. Will you go and check how Crabbe and Goyle are doing?"

"Sure,"

"Thanks, Blaise," Draco said, looking pale and drawn.

With one last half-smile, he left, the rain filling the distance between them.

--

"Fuckfuckfuck-" Harry managed to wheeze, the words punctuated by the sharp pounding of his feet on the ground.

He dodged some bushes, avoided some branches and kept on running, clutching the bronze and blue flag tightly. There was a small rabble of ravens on his heels, intent on re-gaining their flag. He'd lost Ginny some while ago and was now regretting his rashness. With the rain fiercely stinging his cheeks, pooling on his lips and on his eyelids, his sight was down to a minimum. His contacts burned and he knew he'd have blood-shot eyes for the coming day.

It was quite possible he was not even running in the right direction; everything was hazy and a bit painful to look at. It wouldn't matter if the ravens caught up with him, since they couldn't take his lion from him either way, but it would be a shame to loose the flag. He ran on, until he heard nothing but his blood roaring through his ears.

Eventually he was sure he'd shook them off, but he kept forcing his body forwards, lungs screaming at the lack of oxygen.

The landscape looked like he felt, sodden, dirty and all a bit murky. A bit as if someone had taken great care to paint a perfect replica of a woodland, but for some reason had seen fit to dunk it into a tub full of dirty water when it was finished. His fingers were wrinkled and filthy, and ice cold around the pole of the flag.

He ran on squinting, blinking, half-blind-

"OOF!"

The flag spun away in a wide arc, landing with a splash in a nearby puddle.

"Fuckingbloodymotherfuckingholy-"

"Potter, such language."

Harry pushed away from the steading grip on his shoulder, making a noise of utter contempt. Dragging the back of his hand over his eyes, trying to clear them, he peered at the ground. "You did that on purpose, you bloody prick," he said, but his heart was not in it. Hands patting the ground and -ew- mud, or at least he hoped it was mud, Harry groped around for the flag.

"Looking for this?"

Taking a deep breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his wrinkled fingers. Then he turned around and faced Draco. He could see him only vaguely, twirling the flag with all the skill of a cheerleader. He stuck out his hand, "I'll have that back, thanks."

Draco stopped twirling at what must have shown on his face. "Potter-"

"I mean it, Malfoy," Harry ground out, "You give either give me that bloody flag or I'll make you."

"Potter,"

"Right now, Malfoy. I swear, I swear you'll regret it if you don't-"

"I'm sorry!" Malfoy flung at him, almost like hurling a stone.

Harry blinked, rather taken back and forgetting to hate him for a moment (and why did that seem to take so much effort nowadays?). "Er. That's okay, thanks," he said, and took hold of the flag.

But Draco wasn't letting go. Harry tugged several times to make sure he hadn't just lost feeling in his hand and then looked up sharply, mouth opening to protest. Only to shut it again.

Draco had a strange sort of look on his face. He looked, for lack of a better word, almost fond and at the same time a bit exasperated with him. He pulled the flag out of Harry's slackening grip. "I'm not apologizing about the flag, you dork."

Harry frowned, wanting to protest at being called a dork. He seemed to want to protest at a lot, actually.

"I was apologizing about-" he gestured helplessly at Harry's face.

"Oh," Harry said

"Yeah."

"Fat lot of good that is to me now," Harry said, making a grab for the flag once more.

"Potter," Draco implored, "I mean it"-he made sure to catch Harry's eye-"I am sorry."

Harry nodded vaguely, remembering how Draco had slithered out of actually saying those words last time to him in what was a somewhat similar situation that involved physical trauma on his face. "You're sorry?" He didn't mean for the words to come out so scathing, but they did.

His blonde hair hanging in limp strands on his forehead, Draco nodded, "Yes, I am."

Harry looked at him, really looked at him, never mind the overall blurriness and the stinging sensation it brought to his eyes. God, those contacts were giving him hell. He blinked against the grittiness, frowning. Draco looked pale, a bit humiliated and determined all the same. "You really _are _sorry," Harry said wonderingly.

Making a sweeping motion with both his arms, the blonde spat out, "Yes, Potter, I am. I've said it about four times. Do you want me to write it down for you? Maybe even illustrate it?"

Harry suddenly found himself laughing, a bit hysterically even. It hurt his sides and he had to gasp after air in shuddering gulps and it was definitely not the good kind of laughter. When he finally calmed down, he managed between breathless giggling and panting. "Apology accepted."

Draco had a horrified look on his face, "Okay, never mind. I take it back, I've always known you're not the sharpest tool in the shed, but now you've just gone loopy. Cross out the s-word, I'm taking my leave." But even as he said it, he remained where he was.

"It's just," Harry said as he caught his breath, "you're so weird."

"Excuse me?" Draco demanded, much affronted.

"You're so weird," Harry repeated helpfully, "but that's okay."

"Thanks," Draco returned dubiously.

They stared at each other, carefully measuring each other up. Harry, even though he was prepared to forgive him, was still not very happy with him. Draco was not helping by suddenly getting a certain look on his face. The look of devilish plotting.

The corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched, and he said, "So, I've apologized and you've forgiven my momentarily deviation from my usual brilliant self. I think this is a noteworthy moment. It calls for a special gesture, don't you think?" He opened his arms wide.

Harry tilted his head, looking at the flag Malfoy still clutched in his right hand.

Draco made a little up-and down waving motion with both his arms, as if he were figuring out how to fly.

Harry rubbed rain away from his upper lip and looked at him.

"Well?" Draco said impatiently.

"Well what?"

"A hug, Potter," Draco said with great deliberation, "or are you completely devoid of empathy?"

"Er. What?" Harry said quickly.

"Where's the love Potter? C'mon, give me a squeeze," he said the last word as if he were uttering a particularly vile word, his mouth twisting around it.

"I. I-" Harry looked around a bit wildly, "I'm not. Erk-"

He staggered forward as Draco grabbed his shoulder and forced him closer. Harry froze, his face smothered against Draco's shoulder and neck, the arms around him like a band of steel.

"There, is that so bad?" Draco asked soothingly, as if coaxing a spooked animal into calmness.

Somehow the tone worked wonders, Harry relaxed a little and allowed his hands to come up and settle against Draco's ribcage. Dear God, was the man anorexic? He could walk his fingers along every sweep of ribs with ease. Which he didn't, but how he wished... Somewhere Harry was aware that this was some sort of ploy on his account, but he really didn't posses the brainpower at this moment to figure out what it was. He was much more aware of Draco holding him, in a supremely awkward grip that felt much more like a judo maneuver than an act of gentleness.

"Okay," Harry said, not sure what he was okay with.

It was hopeless. Only for a second, Harry told himself. He turned his face into Draco's neck, closed his eyes and hoped the other would not know he was doing it. Rain, sweat and coffee. Harry shuddered and prayed Malfoy would think it was of the cold. Besides being so horribly thin and tall, Harry could feel the nice shoulders, broad but not overly so. And the lean stretching of muscles all over his tall frame did nothing to soften all the jutting edges and angles that made up Draco Malfoy. If only he could-

"You can let go now, Potter," Draco said into his hair.

It seemed he had let go of him a while ago.

Harry physically jumped and stumbled in his effort to put space between them.

"I ah-" He groped around in his befuddled brain for a fitting reply as to explain his belated disengaging from the hug. He was, in a way, saved from having to explain himself by noticing Malfoy's smug smirk. "What?"

Clumsily his hands went to his back and he turned around on himself in a vain effort to look between his shoulders. When he came face to face with Malfoy again the other was twirling the bronze and blue flag once more. Clutched in his other hand was Harry's lion.

"You!"

"Me."

"That wasn't fair!" Harry exclaimed and went red with humiliation. Some hug.

"I wasn't planning on it, Potter, don't get your knickers in a twist," Draco flapped a hand and looked at Harry's outraged and disbelieving face. "Okay, so I did plan it," he conceded, smugly.

Harry parted his lips but was unable to say anything.

"Hey," Malfoy said, "don't get angry again. Wouldn't you've done the same?"

Harry shook his head vehemently, "I would not!"

Shaking his head ruefully Draco said softly, "Yes, you probably wouldn't have. You're awfully noble like that. But also stupid." He looked at Harry, smiling a bit, "Do you need another hug?"

Tempting. Oh so tempting but Harry shook his head in a negative, "No thanks, I learned my lesson."

"No hard feelings, Potter?" Draco asked and, to Harry's shock, he sounded truly a bit frightened and worried.

He had every right to be absolutely furious with him, Harry reminded himself. It would be perfectly acceptable if he bashed Malfoy's skull in with a blunt object. They both knew Malfoy deserved it. "No hard feelings," Harry heard himself saying instead.

--

Harry, without a lion, was disqualified and went to join the others who were waiting for the game to end. It came as no surprise that Ron was already there.

"That Pansy Parkinson is not to be trusted, not at all," he replied when Harry inquired about the nature of his capture.

Harry didn't ask any further.

It seemed the game was getting more fierce. An alarming amount of lions came in, followed by quite a few ravens and some snakes. Harry watched on as Hermione, Seamus, Ginny and Colin joined them. Then Parvati. Some more ravens. Dean. Blaise Zabini and Tracey Davis. Then all the lions exclaimed in dismay when Finbar came in.

"Finbar!"

"You got caught?"

"What happened to the flag?"

Finbar sat down heavily next to Dean, who seemed to realize what might've happened. "Draco Malfoy and some of his team got our flag."

"What?"

"Why didn't you-"

Finbar gave them a derisive look, "Haven't you noticed? All the lions were here, I was the last one. I was outnumbered."

"We lost," Dean said with a careless shrug and gave Finbar a pat on the back.

More snakes came in and some badgers, but, logically, no more ravens.

Then suddenly it was over.

Draco Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe came in, followed by the rest of their team, which wasn't even a fourth of their original number. Malfoy was uttering a constant stream of profanity, while Alex kept saying, 'I _told_ you not to take out all lions' while Pansy, at the same time kept shrilling, 'I _told_ you not to go for the badgers' flag!"

Behind the snakes came the remaining Ravens, who seemed just as dejected and a little confused as to how they lost. They were few, since the lions had done their best to wipe out as much of them as they could before they were all captured.

Then came the badgers, with their nearly full number. Ernie Mcmillan was clutching all four flags triumphantly.

"So close, so _close_-" Malfoy kept muttering, sending Ernie vivid looks of pure hatred.

Later on, Harry and Hermione got the explanation from both Darragh and then once again from Ernie. Darragh told them how Draco had mysteriously obtained the ravens' flag -though he refused to explain how- and how they had then picked of the lions one by one, until Finbar had been the last man standing. He'd put up quite a fight, but with six to one...

Ernie told them that for some reason nobody paid any attention to them. How everybody ran past them in order to get someone else's badge or even flag. As if the rest were a much bigger threat than them. In the end the rest had all wiped each other out, and the main competition were the snakes, who had three flags and were preoccupied with keeping the ravens away. Anyway, badgers caught snakes and the ravens were only with a handful, so they took everybody and just swamped the snakes' camp, taking their badges and their flags. Which made four in addition with their own and meant instant victory.

"They've all underestimated them," said Hermione sagely.

"They cheated," Harry heard Draco grumble to a rather pre-occupied Blaise.

Harry agreed with Hermione, naturally.

--

As if by some unspoken agreement, the downpour slowed to tickle as they walked back to the chalets and halted entirely when they went down to dinner.

Thus the campfire was able to continue. They all set out at ten o'clock, a weary and yawning group of youngsters all bundled up in multiple layers of clothing. They had done nothing but run around all day in the rain and everybody had much preferred crawling into bed early. Instead they were walking through the saturated woods, shoes filling steady with mud and dirty water even though the sky was completely clear, showing a vast scattering of stars against an inky backdrop, every bright pinprick arranged in complex patterns. The trek was notably devoid of chattering, the lot of them peering about sleepily and contemplatively.

Ahead of Harry, Ron and Hermione walked hand in hand exchanging few words. Yet Harry saw something truly strong and a bit awe-inspiring between the two of them and couldn't help himself by looking at them during the walk.

None too soon, they arrived at the campfire which was set up next to a pub. It was convenient as students would be able to get drinks and could chose to stay in or out. It was a concrete pit, covered to keep it dry, and large logs were arranged in a circle around it.

They received instructions on how to remove the covering and fill the concave pit with dry wood that was stacked in a shed by the back of the pub, and how to then set a proper fire under it. As the fire began to consume the dry branches, the professors distributed two coupons for each one of them to get a drink at the pub. No alcohol of course.

Harry sat with a steaming cocoa cupped between his gloved hands, the fire casting a fierce heat on his face. As he had expected, his eyes were blood-shot and sore, and he was wearing his glasses again. He sat by himself, lost in a bit in a trance. The world seemed slanted and skewed, not only from being tired and confused and, God help him, from Malfoy.

The professors, he supposed, had given up trying to keep an eye on them and had all retreated to the pub. Most of the students were hanging around there as well or had disappeared in the woods with a partner. Only a quarter of the students were left by the roaring bonfire, the lot of them strangely quiet and yet at ease.

Ron and Hermione were still there, but they tangled up in each other somewhere behind him, snogging. Although they were there, it was as though they weren't. His head was so full of thoughts that his surroundings almost didn't matter.

Already he'd decided he was happy for Remus and Sirius. And that he was going to just wait and see what happened. He'd gone through a spell of sudden shame over his thinking that he'd be cast aside by his godfather. Now he recognized it as his being unable to deal with the sudden change in a rather stressful period. If it had happened without Sirius nearly killing himself, Harry wouldn't of fretted over it so much. But being confronted with the actual reality of the fragility of a human life had wanted him to keep his godfather to himself, assure himself that he was still there, alive and had not, somehow, disappeared when the motorcycle had crashed. The altering affects that came with his accident scarred Harry deeply but he knew he would overcome it, if not for Sirius' sake.

He had come to terms that this change wasn't bad. It would've happened at one point or another and his only worry now was Sirius' health. Or so he had thought before the trip.

Now, if he had thought that that had been the greatest tangle to unknot in his mind he was wrong, because thinking about Draco Malfoy was more than enough to give him migraine.

As if on his own accord, his eyes veered up from his mug of cocoa, to seek out those of Malfoy's. He had to peer about for a while, his sight blurry and his eyes tired. When he found him he was momentarily startled to find the blonde already watching him. He smiled at him. Draco gave him a small nod.

Heart on his tongue, breathless and feeling somehow sick, Harry looked back into his mug. What am I going to do? He asked of himself. How will I be able to talk to him, day after day? This is inappropriate; we're just friends. I don't want to ruin that. He has a girlfriend. I could lose him if I... Harry's thoughts churned about unpleasantly and after a while, he allowed himself to think of something he'd violently pushed to some barred and locked corner of his mind. _Halloween_.

Very carefully, as if dismantling a bomb Harry analyzed that situation. He honestly made himself look at it in a neutral way, as if was apart from him, some puzzle he had to figure out. In that bathroom. _Careful, very careful_. Something had happened. Almost. _Careful_. He couldn't quite remember for the life of him whether their lips had actually touched or not. It was all a bit vague, as if he'd had too much to drink. Which he hadn't. He remembered liquid fire in the pit of his stomach. Goose-bumps; as if every hair had stood on end to reach out. Malfoy had been close, but had they really... their lips? The very though was enough to make Harry feel faint and remind him sharply that he was only seventeen with raging hormones wrecking havoc on his body.

When he got his shaking hands under control he decided that they had. God, help him, but they had. Almost. Nearly. Barely. But it had been there. And he knew it, Malfoy knew it, and it was like glass pane between them and so it would remain. Malfoy would never, ever admit that. Never. He would continue to play-act being friends with Harry and convince himself at the same time. They would be able to see each other, interact with each other, try to be friends with each other, but it would never be real. It would never be the same as with Ron or even Darragh. Years might pass but that moment would form an obstruction between the two of them.

Harry realized that breaking it would be just that, or the making of something completely different. An old childhood rhyme made its way into his head and he found himself humming the song quietly. "But the child who's born on Sabbath's day is bonny and blithe and good and gay," he whispered to himself shakily.

_Monday's child is fair of face._

_Tuesday's child is full of grace._

_Wednesday's child is full of woe._

_Thursday's child has far to go._

_Friday's child is loving and giving._

_Saturday's child works hard for a living,_

_But the child who is born on the Sabbath_

_Is bonny and blithe and good and gay._

Meanwhile Finbar stared through the flames at Harry. Watched him watching Draco Malfoy. Watched Draco Malfoy watch Harry. Watched the subtle and strange...thing between them, one moment calm and nearly invisible, then like an almost tangible crackle of energy.

At first Harry was deeply withdrawn in himself, fighting with something that seemed to distress him. And almost as if in punishment, Finbar watched how Harry forced himself to think about it. After that he was able to return Draco's questioning eyes, and some strange game seemed to pass between the two of them. As though they were holding some sort of conversation between the two of them and could understand one another without words. An eyebrow arched, eyes rolled, small expressions that shot back between the two of them as if they were seated at the opposite sides of a table and having a completely normal conversation with words.

He watched on and worried, hoping they would not tear each other and the rest of them to pieces. He could just hear Harry humming and tilted his head a bit to listen. "Wednesday's child is full of woe…" Finbar trailed off, unable to continue the rest of the rhyme. Shaking his head, he stared up at the skies, looking for an answer.

_Monday's child is fair of face._

_Tuesday's child is full of grace._

_Wednesday's child is full of woe._

_Thursday's child has far to go._

_Friday's child is loving and giving._

_Saturday's child works hard for a living,_

_But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day_

_Is bonny and blithe and good and gay._

At the same time Darragh was leaning against his brother, feeling tired and emotionally drained.

Finbar was obviously trying to wrap his mind around something, or he already had and was consequently fretting about it. In any case he was pre-occupied. Which was okay with him because Darragh did not feel like talking.

He sat just behind his brother, knees on either side of Finbar's torso, and rested his head on a broad shoulder. Just feeling the familiar contours of his sibling, being able to smell him and the knowledge he was just there, no questions asked, was enough. He loved Finbar probably more than anything in the world. He was more than just a brother. He was a friend, a protector and in some cases had come close to replacing their father. Which was impossible, of course, but nonetheless...

Sleep was nearby and he peered through his lashes at Harry, who was close. Not within touching distance, but close enough.

He felt angry at himself, having not been able to deny himself that kiss. It had only complicated everything. He really liked Harry. He didn't know the man well enough to use the other, stronger word. Also he kept wondering if a person really could feel like that about two entirely different people. And Harry was almost in every way the opposite of Orion.

Orion was not sweet and shy and brave. He was mean and fierce and harsh and uncompromising. He was not awkward and perpetually unaware of everything like Harry. No, Orion knew what he wanted, when he wanted it and how he wanted it. He was a bit strange, very energetic and had a cutting sense of humor. And yet at the same time, unexpectedly, Orion was a complete and utter romantic, the kind who sent flowers or planned a moonlight picnic. Who kissed you, held you and took your hand even when everybody could see it. Who was attentive and sweet and utterly willing to do anything for you. Until... Family. Family was so important to him. So much that he became blind to right and wrong.

Sighing, he looked at Harry again, allowing himself to dwell on a dangerous 'what if'.

Almost immediately he conceded that the two of them would wound each other if they did... well.

He followed Harry's intent green eyes and found a pair of deceptively blue ones, looking back at the green.

Darragh closed his eyes and tried not to burst our laughing at laughing at the utter irony of it all. From his side, he heard the trail end of a rhyme and picked it up from where Finbar left off, "Thursday's child has far to go," he said chortling into his hand.

_Monday's child is fair of face._

_Tuesday's child is full of grace._

_Wednesday's child is full of woe._

_Thursday's child has far to go._

_Friday's child is loving and giving._

_Saturday's child works hard for a living,_

_But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day_

_Is bonny and blithe and good and gay._

Even while the two Ganad brothers tried to cope with their train of thought, Alex sat next to Draco, smiling a bit to herself.

Blaise was next to her, carefully not touching.

Yet it felt as if they were both doing much, much more than that. She could barely hear the sound of her breath over the pounding of her heart. Without words the two of them had agreed not to do anything, anything at all, no touching, caressing or kissing until they were sure it would be just the two of them, alone. If she touched him now... Alex smirked, if she touched him now it would be like floodgates breaking. They'd be the scandal of the school.

Trying not to think about Blaise had about the same effect as indulging in some wicked fantasy about him so she forcibly pushed her thoughts away from that to another new level of complexity.

Looking at Draco made her want to push him face-first into the fire, because honestly, how thick could you get?

She didn't know what everybody else saw, but she saw the utter fear and hopelessness in his eyes and felt a bit sorry for him. It was so disgustingly obvious and yet to Draco it was something strange and rather dreadful and, like everything else that felt to him like that, he ignored it. Buried it even. Or, even more likely, he was not even aware of it.

Big coward, Alex though fondly. She looked across the fire when she heard gentle humming and stared at Harry's glassy eyes. Listening for a bit, she smiled when she recognized the tune. "Monday's child is fair of face," she sang looking over at Blaise's fire lit profile.

_Monday's child is fair of face._

_Tuesday's child is full of grace._

_Wednesday's child is full of woe._

_Thursday's child has far to go._

_Friday's child is loving and giving._

_Saturday's child works hard for a living,_

_But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day_

_Is bonny and blithe and good and gay._

Next to her was Blaise, who was quite sure he would turn to either stone or to into a incoherent gibbering mess. He was still not sure which was more likely. He dared not move; Alex was beside him. Touching her meant tackling her and doing unspeakable things to her in public. Not touching meant going insane.

He dared a glance at her, saw her watching Draco, watched Draco and, ultimately that led to Draco watching Potter. And, as a consequence, watching Potter watch Draco.

He looked away, shaking his head. Dear God, they all were a sorry mess. Blaise listened to Alex sing sweetly. While he didn't dare look at her, he continued for her, "Tuesday's child is full of grace," and she really was when she was unmoving. He fluttered his fingers next to hers and felt her do the same with a smile.

_Monday's child is fair of face._

_Tuesday's child is full of grace._

_Wednesday's child is full of woe._

_Thursday's child has far to go._

_Friday's child is loving and giving._

_Saturday's child works hard for a living,_

_But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day_

_Is bonny and blithe and good and gay._

Opposite of them, and somewhat behind Harry was Hermione.

Ron's arms were around her belly, in a propriety manner and she was positive that he'd dozed off.

Hermione lay on her side, her cheek pillowed on an arm. She gazed at Harry, half-angry with him, the other half sympathetic. She was angry at his utter stupidity. At not being able to hide the naked look of utter longing on his face, the helpless desire. She should have recognized it sooner. However, she was not quite angry with him for liking Malfoy. Who he liked was his own business, even though he'd picked out the most difficult person to fall for. She knew it would upset Ron, but she knew just as well that Harry had not done it on purpose. Obviously. No it was not that. She was furious at how utterly vulnerable he left himself. As if he'd bared his neck to someone holding a knife. It wasn't adoration, nor was it lust. Sure, he was attracted to Malfoy, but... Even though it had been such a short while, Harry had lost a part of himself and seemed quite willing to risk getting his throat slit.

It was made worse that the helpless longing went hand in hand with a stubborn determination. And above all, Harry was very bad at letting go.

"Friday's child is loving and giving. Saturday's child works hard for a living." Hermione looked at Harry and Draco, one after the other. Her eyes were full of unshed tears for both of them. She would watch over them and hope that they wouldn't ruin both their lives with what neither one could say.

_Monday's child is fair of face._

_Tuesday's child is full of grace._

_Wednesday's child is full of woe._

_Thursday's child has far to go._

_Friday's child is loving and giving._

_Saturday's child works hard for a living,_

_But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day_

_Is bonny and blithe and good and gay._

And while everybody was fighting with such complex and demanding issues, Draco Malfoy smiled at Harry Potter's expression of exasperation and wondered why he felt ill, his stomach churning unpleasantly, almost as if he had to throw up.

He could hear singing from all around him faintly and spared a glance to look. Everyone was singing around him and he screwed up his face in confusion. Then he rolled his eyes and proceeded to ignore everyone. They were all idiots. His eyes landed back on Harry's and his stomach knotted again.

Maybe he was coming down with something.

--

Thank you all for your patient waiting! I'm hoping you've enjoyed this chapter, it was a struggle to get out. Thank you Jules, once again, for holding my hand and kicking my butt alternately when I needed it. It's only thanks to her that the chapter got finished!

Also my sincerest love, gratitude and thank yous to all those who left my reviews on last chapter, they were incredible and were an excellent drive to make me want to finish this story. You guys are amazing!

Chapter title comes from U2, Vertigo.

The rhyme is named Monday's Child


	18. Young Folks

Disclaimer: I do _not_ own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs. But I _do_ own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

**Chapter Eighteen – Young Folks**

_"If I told Terry Boot I got you in my bed, do you think he'd cry?" - Draco Malfoy_

Watching the thick dollop of honey slowly sink as he held the bottle over his tea, Harry sat slouched at his kitchen table. Opposite of him sat Alex checking their project.

Both of them were extremely tired; the lessons the week after they'd returned had been hard, as though the teachers had tried to pack the lost time from going on the trip into their current curriculum. Add the additional work to the strenuous physical activity culminating in their last three days and it was a recipe for severe fatigue. The rain hadn't let up either during the rest of the trip, so what with running around, getting rained upon and getting to bed late, the entire student body had been utterly knackered by the end. The only positive was that there were barely any clashes, mentally or physically. Everyone was simply too exhausted to bother.

"If you're going to pour any more honey in that, you might as well squirt it straight into your mouth," Alex pointed out, eyes flicking upwards from the timeline in her hands.

"Oh," Harry said dully and stopped squeezing the bottle.

The apartment was nearly silent as Sirius was at Remus'. The only thing he could hear was the dull hum from Nyoka's tank.

Alex sat back and put the stack of papers down. She rubbed her left eye with her fist and said over a yawn, "I think this should do. I don't see anything we could've left out."

"Okay," Harry said awkwardly.

It was very difficult talking to the girlfriend of the bloke you fancy. Well, it had not been at first, but now it was. Very much so. How could he look her in the eye when he couldn't stop thinking about the stupid prat this entire time? I'm sorry Alex, I'm just thinking about how your boyfriend would look without a shirt or trousers, pushed up against a wall somewhere, you know, the usual. Harry took a deep, steadying breath.

Alex seemed to sense there was something amiss, "Harry-" she began, but then her phone went off.

Harry had never seen such an impressive dive before. She all but slid over the table and sprang upon her bag to get her hands on her mobile phone. Only his sharp reflexes saved his mug.

"HELLO?" Alex all but bellowed into the phone.

Harry arched a brow.

"Blaise! YES! Ehm, sorry-" she said quickly and went rather red. "I didn't mean to scream like that."

Taking a sip, Harry tried to look completely unobtrusive.

"So, why are you calling? What? No, no I'm at Harry's. Yeah. I know, heh."

She turned away from him and went into the living room, but the apartment was small and Harry could still hear her loud and clear.

"I'll be sure to tell him that," she murmured, sounding highly amused. "So, what's up? Oh. OH! Really? The whole weekend? Everybody, even April? I-Yes, of course. Hmm. Prat. Yes, I will. Okay? Bye."

She came back into the kitchen, positively glowing. Every trace of exhaustion was wiped away and she looked radiant.

"Sorry about that," she said, beaming.

"It's quite alright," Harry said a bit shortly. He knew that 'suspicious' was probably scrawled in big black letters all over his forehead, but Alex was too happy to be bothered at all.

Making a sweeping motion at their work for Trelawny, Alex said, "I think there's not much we can improve here. It should get us an A."

"Let's hope so," Harry said a bit stiffly. He very much wanted to hit her except for that ingrained rule about boys not hitting girls. Damn that rule, Harry thought as his grip on his cup tightened.

Alex raised her white eyebrows at him. "Look, I have to go-" she paused, her face becoming gentle, "Are you feeling fine?"

"Absolutely ducky," Harry said.

As she slung her bag over a shoulder Alex looked rather upset, not knowing what to make of his sudden abrupt behavior. She stepped towards the door, but paused to say, "Hey, I'm sorry I'm running out on you like this. If you want, I'll go over it again later. So I'll see you at school tomorrow?"

"Sure," Harry said baring his teeth at her in a parody of a smile.

"Bye, Harry," One look at his face and Alex quickly shut the door behind her.

Harry watched the silvery knob turn and took a moment to calm down. He was over-reacting. Alex was not cheating on Draco with Blaise. That would just be five kinds of wrong. Some part of his mind was cheering this notion on. With Alex out of the picture maybe… Maybe.... But Draco would be crushed. Harry knew enough from obsessively studying him that under the snarky, aloof and downright weird behavior there was someone who really _clung _to his friends. Anyone could see Malfoy loved her. It was there when he looked at her, touched her and talked to her. And even though he very badly wanted Malfoy for himself, the idea of seeing him being shattered to pieces because Alex was being unfaithful to him -with his best friend on top of that!- was somehow terrible enough that Harry hoped he was imagining things.

--

Outside the sky was fading into gray with a yellow glow at the horizon, the dark blue drowning out with the coming of morning. The curtains were still wide-open and Blaise watched the sky grow gradually lighter still. He'd slept for a few hours at least, exhausted and in a state of bliss, body humming with the aftershock. He'd been dozing, but then had gotten a little physical jolt that had him awake for almost half an hour now.

His eyes slid down from the view the window offered and smiled.

Sleeping steady was probably more difficult because he wasn't used to having someone in his bed. It shamed him to acknowledge he had never let anybody in his own bed, let alone allowed them to sleep there afterwards. He usually kicked them out, wherever they may be. He was a bit of a bastard, really. Then again he had told Finnigan that sex was nothing special which proved how little he'd known.

He was still gazing at her, feeling helplessly happy when he realized to his surprise that Alex was awake and watching him, too.

"Hi," she said, her voice gravelly with sleep.

"Hey," Blaise replied softly.

Alex stretched, utterly unembarrassed, the sheets barely covering her legs. "What time is it?"

"Five," Blaise murmured, wanting to reach out but also just wanting to watch her.

By now she was moving slowly, blinking, her skin a dark contrast against the sheets. She winced as she sat up properly.

Blaise felt his stomach drop through the bottom of the bed, "Does it hurt?" He sat up too, anxious.

Alex gave him a weird look and then said in tones of revelation, "Oh." She thought about it while she tried to gather her wild tangle of dreadlocks in her hands. Taking her time with it, she only replied when most of them were not sticking up like antennas anymore. "It's a good kind of pain." Then she turned to him and smiled, a wonderful sort of smile that said, _this is for you._

"Oh." He wasn't sure what to make of that.

"I think it's me who should be ashamed of myself," Alex said a bit wryly, hand coming up and settling on his shoulder.

Now it was Blaise's turn to wince. "What?" He felt for his neck and then his shoulder and could feel crusty ridges that burned on the right side.

"I am," Alex said, looking startled herself, "so sorry. Does it hurt?"

Blaise smirked at her, "It's a good kind of pain," he echoed.

"I bet," Alex said with a low laugh. "I'm not tired anymore... you?"

Shaking his head, Blaise felt rather wide awake. Which was somewhat strange since they'd not exactly slept much. "We could shower? Properly this time, without you about hurl all over the place."

"Hmm..." Alex moved closer and kissed his temple, "you make it sound so romantic."

They had their shower. Twice. And they had time enough to have a leisurely breakfast, get dressed properly and to actually take the long way to school, even though it was raining. It was strange how easy conversation came between them now, not all awkward or embarrassed.

When they finally walked into the building of the school, they were still unbelievably early and there was nye a student in sight. They went up to the floor that had the coffee machines, both talking is subdued voices and smiling perhaps too much.

As the turned into the hallway Blaise was not exactly surprised to see Draco and Harry Potter there already. So that was why Draco didn't have the time to accompany him in the mornings past week. He had planned to be there much, much earlier before them. He was standing with his back to them, making extravagant gestures with both hands, coffee slopping over the rim of his cup ever so often. Potter was laughing, a bit ruefully, shaking his head. His left cheek was still a bit yellow, but the bruise was fading rapidly.

Then Potter spotted them and tipped his cup all over himself.

"Are you having another of your strange attacks, Potter, because frankly I- Oh. Hey Blaise. Alex," he gave them a strange one-over.

Potter was dabbing at his jumper with a napkin, red in the face. "Look I'm going to go and try to clean this up a bit, see you later, Malfoy?" he asked, his voice coming out strangled.

"Sure," Draco said in his lazy, pleased drawl.

Potter looked up, once, straight at Blaise and on his face was pure fury. Then he wrenched himself away and strode off.

Draco watched him go, a bit bemused and then turned to them. He raised both his eyebrows and said, "Finally. You two were driving me insane."

Both Alex and Blaise gave each other a startled, searching look, wondering if 'got laid' was stamped all over them.

"Really," Draco went on, unfazed, "All that tiptoeing around each other the whole week, barely speaking and getting fits when you accidentally touched, it was getting out of hand. It was like dealing with a pair of overly horny-" he paused thoughtfully and added, "Rabbits? No, they're too-"

"We get the point, Draco," Blaise interrupted loudly, giving a hurried look down the hallway.

"And so will everybody else if you don't cover your neck, Zabini," Draco said, nodding casually at the red bite-mark there.

Clapping a hand to his neck, he shot a frown at Alex who handed him her scarf with an air of pure innocence.

"Now, I could carry on embarrassing the two of you all morning, but before that I wanted to ask you something," Draco tipped back the rest of is coffee and said, "Join me for a movie tonight? Father and Mother will be out until tomorrow evening and I was thinking-" He trailed off at the look on their faces.

It was clear they wanted to spend the weekend alone with each other, but both Blaise and Alex were already smiling and nodding in consent.

Draco forced himself to smile too, "Okay, you know what? We'll do that some other time. When the holidays are here we'll have time enough."

"Draco!"

"Oh come on, Malfoy!"

The both of them burst out at the same time, but Draco flapped a hand at them, forcing himself to make this noble sacrifice. He would have to get used to being the third wheel for a while. He still had something to make up to Blaise, after all, and he really wanted to show he wasn't needy and petty all the time. Besides, another option was already coming to mind.

*

Harry was eating crisps as he watched the telly, having come down from having dinner at Remus' an hour or so ago. He was alone but for the rather heavy weight of Nyoka on his feet, which were, actually, starting to go numb.

It was Friday evening and he had nothing to do. Everyone either had a significant other they wanted to spend it with or previous engagements. So when his phone went off, it made for a welcome escape in his otherwise dull evening. He stood up, pulled one foot from under the snake, then the other with a bit more trouble, only to trip over a coil of her body he hadn't seen as he tried to step over her.

His knee scraped and still wincing, Harry flipped open his phone and said, "Yes?"

"Is that a way to answer your phone? No hello, or anything of the sort? I know you are an orphan but I also know you were not raised by bears."

"Hello Malfoy," Harry said, smiling.

"Better, but still lacking."

He sat up, licked his palm and rubbed it over his scraped knee. He hissed at the sting.

"Dear Lord, Potter, are you wanking? I know the sound of my voice is terribly arousing and all that, but can't you control yourself for once?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said off-handedly and then tried a different tactic. "Good evening Malfoy, how are you this fine Friday evening?"

There was a short silence on the other end and Harry was sure that Draco was trying to figure out whether to answer to that, or to pursue the road to humiliating Harry. Eventually he said, "Much better, and frankly I'm terribly bored. I insist you come and entertain me."

Harry stopped nursing his knee and said slowly, "What?"

"I am horribly and terminally bored, Potter and shall expire if you do not come over and provide some sort of entertainment. Most preferably in the form of me shaming you or any variation thereof."

His heart pounded a little loudly and Harry worried that Malfoy might hear it, "Can't you just ask if I want to come over?"

Malfoy appeared to consider that. "You could put it like that, but it sounds less fun."

"Of course," Harry managed a bit shakily.

"Well?"

"W-When, should I. Er. Come over?" Harry cursed himself. He was stammering like a blushing ten-year old girl.

"W-What about. Er. When you're ready?" Malfoy answered, mimicking Harry with eerie perfection.

After they hung up, Harry had a few moments of frantic dashing about the apartment, not quite knowing what he was looking for. He tripped twice over Nyoka, who was making her way across the living room to her tank, before he ended up in the bathroom with a brush in his hand.

"Why don't you lie flat, you bleeding-"

After a valiant, but futile struggle, he abandoned the brush and shoved his head under the tap until his hair was soaked. He was raking it back with his fingers, the cold water tickling down his neck when he suddenly thought, 'What am I doing?'

He grabbed his phone, ID and, as an afterthought, some more crisps and a bottle of soda. Already half-way out the door, he threw himself back in when reminded of Sirius and Remus. In a barely legible scrawl he wrote, 'gone to a friend, don't know when back, have phone with me,' bolted for the door, and slammed the lock in place before sprinting for the stairs.

Even though Malfoy had given him directions, Harry still had a hard time navigating his way to the mansion. The bus stopped just at the outskirts of the extremely posh neighborhood and Harry somehow missed the right street on the first go. Going in circles, muttering to himself and eventually just asking an older lady walking her Chihuahua -who gave him an extremely disapproving look- he finally got the right street. He counted house-numbers, feeling his eyes grow wider and wider with each house he passed.

Blaise Zabini had a huge house and even bigger grounds. But these...

He turned into a narrow, moonlit lane, as the lady had directed, shivering and hoping he was close. On his left was a tangle of low-growing brambles, looking decidedly ominous in the dark of the early winter-evening. To his right, however, was a perfectly tended hedge, towering over him. At last a wide lane branched of leading up to a massive pair of exquisitely designed iron gates. In the distance was the mansion. Or was that a castle? Could a castle have no towers?

He felt faint.

At the gates he was momentarily stumped of how to proceed. Eventually he spotted an intercom and he went over to it. Feeling like an intruder he pressed the buzzer.

"Yes, who is it?" crackled over the intercom.

"Er, Harry Potter. Sir. M'am." he slapped a hand to his forehead.

"State your business?" the voice crackled back haughtily.

"I'm here to see Draco Malfoy?" he said tentatively.

There was a shrill screech, a rather long pause, and finally, "You may proceed."

Noiselessly the gate swung open.

Harry trudged on, eyes straining in the dark towards the manor, diamond-paned windows like beacons. What he thought had been a pair lighted, round windows turned out to be a fancy car rolling smoothly towards him. He jumped aside right on time, shielding his eyes against the glare of the headlights. The gravel crunched under the tires as it slid to a stop next to him. The back window rolled down and a pale, haughty man looked at him.

There was a terse silence.

The man was frowning, his nose crinkled as if he's smelled something unpleasant.

"Who is it, dear?" a cultured female voice asked. "Oh," she said, perplexed, as she spotted him. She was leaning against her husband to have a look at him, a narrow face, high cheekbones, sharp nose and long, thick blonde hair.

Harry blinked and said, "I'm here to see Mal- I mean Draco. Your son. I'm Harry Potter." He wondered if he should offer to shake hands, but refrained from doing so because he felt certain his hand would go ignored.

"You're a friend of his?" The man asked, his voice like steel.

"From school," Harry said guardedly.

"He's never told us about you before," the woman- no, Draco's mother said.

Harry shrugged.

"Hm," the man, his father, grunted. "We have to be going. Good evening, Mister Potter."

"Good evening, Mister Malfoy," Harry said, trying to keep his face straight.

The car drove on and Harry muttered "snobs," under his breath.

He walked up to the doors, hearing the gentle murmuring of a fountain nearby. There was no doorbell, so he gripped the heavy knocker and swung it against the dark wood. As he waited he looked around and found himself staring at a strange sort of white bird.

The door opened.

"Potter," Draco said, "You're awfully early." Suddenly he recoiled a little, just before he leaned forward and said in dire tones, "Potter. What have you done to your hair?"

"Washed it?"

Draco raised an eyebrow and took a breath before asking almost gently, his tone the kind one might use with a mental patient, "Without drying it? Potter, towels are good for many a thing, you see-"

"I was in a hurry okay?" Harry interrupted him hastily, "and what is that?" He added as an afterthought, pointing at the bird. "Is it some kind of goose?"

Malfoy looked toweringly indignant, "It's a white peacock, you un-educated buffoon. My parents' favorite lawn ornament. And are you going to come in or not?"

Standing in the front hall, Harry felt even more of a lumbering oaf than usual, standing there with hair so wet it had soaked the collar of his jumper, dripping now and then on magnificent carpet. "I brought some crisps and soda but," he trailed off, feeling monumentally stupid. It was something he could do when visiting Ron. But Malfoy, what with the obvious richness of this place... Crisps. Soda. Idiot.

Malfoy had a strange, crooked and yet somehow kind sort of smile sitting on his pointed face, "Thanks, Potter. But, honestly, we're not going to starve. Very considerate of you though," he took the bag from Harry with a small smirk. Harry hurriedly kicked of his shoes as Malfoy started for the arched entrance of a nearby hallway. He wanted go with him, but a man in a suit appeared out of nowhere, asking for his coat. Mortified, Harry shrugged out of them, awkwardly draping his coat, scarf and gloves over the butler's arm before scurrying after him.

There were no words to describe the overwhelming opulence of the manor. Harry had known Draco was rich, but this just went beyond all expectations. Beyond his dreams even. And Malfoy fit right in, somehow. It was obviously his element. In retrospect, the blonde was wearing a comfortable, silky looking outfit; they were not pajamas, but not regular clothes either. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that the simple shirt and trousers cost more than his everything he had on him; clothing, wristwatch, phone, money, mp3-player... It was difficult to wrap his mind around.

They were passing portrait after portrait, and Harry halted at the last, which was clearly the newest one. It must've been fairly recent, since there was not much difference with the current Malfoy and his oil-painted counterpart. It was a very classical thing, not exactly beautiful, but very realistic. Draco was wearing a suit and sitting in a very posed manner at a piano, in front of a large window. His mouth was painted in a severe line.

"Quite hideous, isn't it?" Malfoy said from where he was standing besides Harry. He had his hands on his hips and was looking at his own portrait with a rather rueful look.

Harry lifted a shoulder, "Not my thing, but it's so perfectly executed it could be a photo of you."

"I suppose," Draco said, lifting an eyebrow at it.

"I saw your parents on the lane. You look a lot like your mum," Harry told him.

"Mother?" Malfoy said, sounding genuinely surprised. "Everybody says I'm like a carbon copy of my father. With shorter hair."

Harry shook his head, "No, you look definitely more like your mum. Your cheekbones and nose and your hands. Plus your dad has much more chest than you'll ever have."

"Excuse me?" Draco sniffed at him, squaring his shoulders. "I have muscles. On my chest."

Glancing sideways, Harry quipped with a small grin, "Malfoy, I have more muscles in my left pinky than you'll ever have."

"They're well hidden then," Malfoy returned, looking rather miffed and then went on contradicting himself, "besides you must be on hormones or something. There's no way those shoulders are real. You're a cheater, that's what you are."

"I'm just more manly than you are, Malfoy," Harry said lightly as they started walking again, "don't worry, there's nothing wrong with being more in touch with your feminine side..."

"If you don't stop talking, I might just hit you, Potter," Malfoy said darkly. After a few strides, he added almost childishly, "I'm manly."

Harry smiled to himself. He might be surrounded by so much luxury it was enough to make him gag, but Malfoy was still the same.

They took the elevator, the idea of which already made Harry feel a little faint at the obscene amount of wealth these people obviously threw around, and then Draco led him into a hallway, lined with more portraits of pale, blonde-haired people sneering down at him. Finally, Malfoy opened a door and made a sort of sweeping bow at him, his arm sketching a low arc into the room. Harry entered. Malfoy's room came as a sort of relief to Harry. Sure; it was as big as his whole apartment, but it had also had an unmistakable air of Malfoyness to it. It wasn't exactly messy or anything, in fact it was so clean Harry would never dare to show him into his own house let alone his room, but there was such an array of strange items arranged on the shelves that exuded Malfoy's aura. Most notably was a whole shelf lined with different cameras, lenses and other items for photography. He had loads of instruments as well: a guitar, a violin, a flute, a tambourine, a saxophone, a harp, even a didgeridoo. Tons of CD's, which seemed to be alphabetically arranged. On a broad wooden desk were tools: wrenches, hammers, screwdrivers, a handsaw, sanding paper and other power tools. Something that looked to be an old-fashioned carousel horse. And finally, loads of photos. Stack upon stack of photos, scattered throughout the whole room.

Slowly he walked around, peering at everything and, when he got a nod from Malfoy, picking something up to inspect it. He was peering at what looked to be a rough rock, cut in half, when Malfoy came over, lifted it up and showed him the inside. Within there were dark brown and amber crystals. Harry smiled at it, and, with the crystal still in his hand, did a slow turn around the room again.

"Well?" Malfoy was looking at him curiously.

Harry grinned at him, "It's amazing."

Malfoy smiled back, and, even now, it was a crooked sort of smile.

"What's over there?" Harry asked, pointing at a dark, ornate door.

Malfoy motioned for him to open it up, so Harry did. Lights flicked on automatically. It was the bathroom. "You have a Jacuzzi. Which could fit over six people. Why?" Harry asked a bit faintly.

"I need a lot of space," Draco said defensively.

"And a sauna. And a tanning bed," Harry slanted a grin over his shoulder, "which you don't seem to use much."

Draco gave him a haughty look, "It's bad for your skin. You'll develop wrinkles when you get old."

"Imagine that," Harry said a bit dryly.

He closed the door again, still not knowing where to look first. Draco's plasma TV was a miniature cinema, luxurious leather couches positioned in front of it, game consoles, dvd player, everything displayed in a glass case next to it. The computer and the desk seemed fit for a president's office. And the bed. It was enormous. A four-poster complete with canopy, deep green silk sheets, and more cushions and pillows than a person could ever need. Harry walked over, and after a moment's hesitation, sat down on it. It wobbled strangely and Harry had to quickly drop the stone on the bed to use his hands to keep from keeling over.

"A waterbed!" He exclaimed, and, when spotting Malfoy's smile, he asked, "What?"

"Nothing," Draco said with a shake of his head, "It's sort of strange to see the delight you take in these things."

Harry was instantly awkward. "It should come as no surprise to you that I've never seen something such as this. Seriously, Malfoy, your room alone is worth twice our whole apartment." He spotted yet another door, "What's over there?"

"My walk-in wardrobe," Malfoy said, a bit humbled.

Harry wondered why he should feel humbled. If anyone was supposed to feel humbled, it was Harry himself.

They looked at each other, and there was a slight moment where the two of them were suddenly aware that they were alone, together, in Draco's room. Not in the safe, neutral territory that school provided. They'd met up like friends would have. Draco, specifically, was looking rather distressed and uncomfortable as if Harry was a strange and foreign creature he had no idea of what to do with. Harry was quite sure he looked out of place surrounded by all the wealth and opulence. What with his wet, chaotic hair, brand-less clothes and his cheap crisps and soda.

Draco blinked and turned to his huge refrigerator, "Wine?"

Harry gave a start, "Ah. I've never-"

"Don't worry, I won't let you get grotesquely pissed," Draco said, "but you don't have to."

Thinking about it, Harry picked the stone up again and turned it over and over in his hands. He'd never had much alcohol before. A sip of beer from Sirius' a few times. Glühwein during Christmas, and once a glass of champagne. He did not want to make a fool of himself. On the other hand, it was clear that Malfoy was so used to getting wine at home, that to him it was not some sort of adolescent ego-thing.

"I'll try a glass, then," Harry said hesitantly.

Draco nodded, "I'll pour one glass. If you don't like it, I'll finish it."

Trying not to feel too good that Malfoy would put his mouth somewhere Harry's had already touched, he accepted the chilly glass.

--

"I though you'd said you wouldn't let me get inhine-, inebari-, inebai-, oh, fuck it, drunk," Harry complained as he tried holding his head to stop it from spinning so alarmingly.

Malfoy, who was sitting by his side, clamped his lips tightly together to unsuccessfully hide a gleeful smirk, "I had no idea you were such a lightweight. You've only had what, two glasses? And it's inebriated, you big lummox."

"I've never had wine before!" Harry ground out.

"If you're going to be ill, you know where the bathroom is," Malfoy said sharply, doing a nervous little scoot away, creating ripples that added to Harry's vertigo. They had been sitting on Malfoy's waterbed, watching a movie.

Harry though about him chucking up in that ridiculously beautiful bathroom and felt a bit horrified. It seemed almost sacrilegious. "I'm not that drunk, you twat. Just fuzzy. And sleepy."

"Oh," he sounded distinctly relieved, "Oh, that's okay then. Because I have no idea what to do when you'd be truly pissed."

Eying the tool desk, Harry said, "Have your wicked way with me?"

Malfoy choked, snorted up some wine, and barely managed, teary-eyed, an "I beg your pardon?!"

Buzzed as he was Harry took a moment to sort out Malfoy's reaction. He'd grabbed onto a pillow like a victorian lady would protect her virtue. "I meant on the desk," Harry said in exasperation.

Malfoy went possibly paler, "What about the desk?" The knuckles turned white around the rim of the pillow. If he leaned any further away from Harry he'd topple and hit the ground head-first.

Standing up, proud that he could still walk even with the consumption of alcohol, Harry walked over to the wooden desk and lifted the handsaw, "This desk, Malfoy. One track mind, have you?"

"What?" Malfoy squawked, looking outraged. His right eye twitched.

Mimicking sawing off his head, Harry said slowly, "Wicked way?"

Mouth forming a small 'o', Malfoy replaced the pillow gingerly, patting it absently. His pallor was being flooded by a deep red blush. "Careful with that. I've said it before, people will not believe me if I said you'd sawed off your own head because you can't handle two glasses of wine." He levered himself upright and went over to him, removing the saw gently from Harry's unsteady grip.

"What do you have a saw and hammer and all this stuff for anyway? In your room of all places," Harry eyed him considerately, "I'm suddenly not feeling quite as safe anymore," Harry added. Malfoy was not exactly the kind you filed away under 'stable'.

Draco rolled his eyes and said, "Oh bother, you've figured put my sordid secret. I'm a cannibal. I lured you here so I could saw off the top of your scalp and see for myself just how little brain-matter you have. Yum yum."

Making a face at him, Harry reached out to pick up a strange looking hammer from a higher shelf and almost overbalanced.

Malfoy grabbed him by the shoulders, the corner of his mouth quirking up, "I think you had better take a seat, Potter. You big girl."

Sinking back against the pillows, the bed making comforting rocking motions underneath, Harry smiled lazily. This was not so bad. Malfoy was a lot more relaxed around him than he was at school. Even talking to him was not such a trial as it usually was. Usually talking to Malfoy was like bargaining over highly illegal goods with someone speaking another language and possessing the wrong currency. Both pointless and migraine-inducing.

"So what are you doing for Christmas?" Malfoy suddenly asked.

Harry had been sinking away in nice, glowing haze and had to shake his head to clear it a bit, "Nothing much. Open presents at Remus'. Go to Ron's, open presents there," he shrugged.

Next to him, Malfoy was tugging at the comforter and crawling beneath it. He looked rather troubled, "What did you get them?"

"I've already gotten Hermione a gift voucher from Waterstone's. And for Sirius a Nintendo DS, you know, to keep him busy while he's recovering. I haven't gotten Ron anything yet, I'm planning to go shopping for the other presents first week of the vacation," Harry said over a yawn.

"Hm,"

"What about you?" Harry asked, turning on his side and looking at him.

Draco leaned back, his white hair fanning out on the deep green pillow, "Wake up, open presents, accompany parents to fancy Christmas dinner party with family and their friends, eat until I burst, open some more presents and if there's time left I'll go to Blaise's to give them their presents. Next day I'll probably be at yet another dinner party, eating and getting bored out of my skull," he grimaced, closing his eyes.

With the mention of Blaise, Harry began to tense as he asked, "What did you get your friends?"

"I got Blaise some first edition book; he's a total maniac for things like that, and Alex a ring. She's loves girlish trinkets, really, but she'll never admit to it. I'm taking her out for dinner afterwards. Hoping, of course, that I'll still have an appetite left by then, what with all those parties," he smiled a bit.

Harry nodded, his heart pounding in warning, "So, the two of you are, ah, alright?"

Head coming up with a snap, Draco narrowed his eyes and said lowly, "What do you mean?"

Studiously avoiding the accusing eyes, Harry tried to look unperturbed, "Well, since she's not here. And, er, you two seem-"

Draco had snapped straight up, as if someone had just shoved a rod up his arse, "Just say it, Potter, don't act nonchalant with me."

Peevish, Harry turned on him and said, "Well, it just looks as if she's getting really cozy with Zabini, alright?"

Draco blinked.

There was a charged silence, but it was quickly broken by Draco's sharp bark. It really sounded more like a bark than a laugh; a harsh warning. "Oh dear, Potter, don't try to make sense of something you have no business with, alright? I trust Alex with every particle of my being, and that should be enough for you. So stop breaking your head over it."

Harry felt a bit bereft. Part of him really wanted to pursue it. Hammer down on it until he held a shiny, clear answer. The other part was feeling rather guilty. He really didn't know anything about the friendship between Alex and Blaise. She was extremely tactile towards Zabini, but then again she was like that with everybody, even him. What did he really know? Nothing. And, evidently Malfoy was strongly discouraging him to. The handsaw gave a glint like a wink in the low light of the plasma television.

He dropped it.

Obviously things were strained afterwards. Malfoy resorted to mono-syllables, eyes glued on the telly. He was as forgiving as an alligator with a toothache. With a glance at his watch Harry was quite startled to find that eleven o'clock had long passed and that he should be getting ready to leave. With Malfoy having a minor tantrum, the fun had been sucked out of the evening. He sat up, fully intending to announce he was leaving, when Malfoy seemed to jerk out of his moping. He looked at Harry, looked at the wine, looked at Harry again and then promptly poured two more glasses. He wordlessly pressed one into Harry's hand.

"Bon santé," he said, and downed his in one go.

--

"I should really go, it's late, Sirius will be worried."

Malfoy peered at him, as if he were having trouble focusing, "I hate it when people make cheap excuses to leave because they can't stand to be in the same room with me because they hate me," he took a deep gulp of air.

Harry rolled his eyes, "I don't hate you Malfoy. And that is not an excuse. It's past one, I need to go."

Malfoy finished his whistling intake and went on blithely, "I hate people who hate me. I hate people leaving. I hate it when I'm being lied to. I hate puppies. I hate Tuesdays. I hate-"

"Malfoy,"

"-rhododendrons. I hate it when people ignore me. Oh, that one really pisses me off. I hate being alone. I hate pretending. It's tiring. I hate being tired, too. I hate sloppiness. And most of all I hate it when they put pineapple on my pizza. It's disgusting."

Harry did a slow blink as Malfoy appeared to consider something.

"And I hate having to wait. It's boring," he nodded sagely to himself, "I like coffee, though."

Extracting the empty wine glass from Malfoy's white-knuckled hand -he had to peel finger by finger away- Harry said slowly, "How much wine did you have?"

Malfoy looked forlornly at the wine glass and said in surly tones of the deeply wronged, "Not nearly enough. Give that back."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Harry said. He stood, fully intending to put their glasses away, but found his legs doing a wobble that suggested he might injure something if he did not sit down pronto.

"And I'm not drunk," Malfoy said somewhere behind him, "I hate it when they say I am. I'm not. Inebriated perhaps. But not drunk. That's plebeian, and-"

"I didn't say-" Harry shook his head. Perhaps he shouldn't have accepted that third glass. And especially not that fourth. Malfoy usually operated on another level than Harry and with the alcohol in his system he was rather incomprehensible. He understood what Malfoy said, sure, he just didn't make any _sense_.

Meanwhile Malfoy was still doing his spiel and Harry told him to shut it. His mind, sluggish with all the alcohol unleashed on it, translated the words somewhat slower than usual. He blinked and turned to look at Malfoy again, "What?" he asked.

Malfoy was giving him a nasty look through narrowed eyes. "I hate it when people tell me to shut up. That's rude. Besides-"

Harry forced himself to speak loud and clearly, "I asked, what did you say?"

Huffing a bit, he repeated, "If you'd listened, you might have caught me asking you politely whether you wanted to stay the night, but, as you so obviously-"

"Oh."

"What, 'oh'?"

"Er," Harry tried very hard to keep his thoughts on an appropriate course, but it was a losing battle. Especially when 'Malfoy', 'undressing', 'jacuzzi' and 'bed' were all vying for his attention. "Are you, ah, sure?"

Malfoy scrunched his nose and eyed him suspiciously, "What? Is there something I should know? Do you turn into the Incredible Hulk? Moonlight turn you into a werewolf? But I reckon that would be more Lupin's modus operandi-"

"No, but-"

"If I wake up and find that you've marked your territory on my Gucci sneaker loafers, I swear I'll-"

"God, Malfoy, settle down!" Harry told him, his stomach in knots and not all due to the wine. Probably due to 'jacuzzi' and 'soap' at the moment.

Afraid he might just do unspeakable things to Malfoy if he remained near him for the moment, he made another attempt at taking the glasses away. Eventually he made it to the working bench and he very carefully put them down. Then he had to lean on the wooden surface for quite awhile before the room stopped trying to turn itself inside out. He was rather convinced he wasn't actually that pissed, but for a first timer, it was a rather overwhelming experience. He found himself wanting to say all kinds of moronic things to Malfoy, none of which would have boded well for their friendship. And, if not say, then, ahem, _do_, but he didn't even dare to give that thought time lest it spurred into some form of compulsion to actually, truly _do_ it.

He started badly when suddenly a hand fell on his arm, "Potter, are you okay? Are you going to be sick?"

Malfoy was standing, composed and not swaying, next to him. It seemed he could handle being drunk better than Harry, even clear his head when he wanted to. Why wasn't life equal when distributing merits amongst all?

Harry shook his head, "No, I'm fine,"

"You look dead on your feet, I think it's time for you to go to sleep," Malfoy sounded rather strange. Calm and considerate and something else.

Harry realized just how much he'd lost his inhibitions he was when he mumbled, "Don't want to go to sleep yet. Want to stay with you," but he'd not lost them quite as much because he only added, "to, er, talk. Or something."

The hair that curled in the nape of his neck stirred when Malfoy let out a small laugh, "I don't think you're up to intelligent conversation Potter."

He steered Harry away from the bench, hand warm and steadying on his elbow. With a small push he guided Harry to sit on his bed again. "Stay here, don't try to walk around in the state you're in. I'm going to make you a bed in one of the guest rooms, alright? I'll be right back."

"Okay," Harry agreed vaguely.

Malfoy turned to go and then stopped, "I am a horrible host. It seems I did let you get pretty pissed."

"S'okay," Harry managed.

There was a dull silence and then Malfoy left.

Harry rubbed at his eyes, feeling strange and a bit unhinged. Almost as if he'd been untied a bit from his body, floating, looser, everything less solid and yet more real. And extremely tired. Pulling his legs up, he laid down on the bed, curling his body on his side. The sheets were satin or silk, he really couldn't tell the difference; they were smooth, very soft and lustrous.

--

With a start, Harry woke up, immediately realizing he was not in his own bed. Unless Sirius had recently purchased satin -or silk- sheets. But even in the absolute darkness he could _sense_ it was not his room. He sat up, hands reaching out blindly wondering where his glasses had gone, and felt for something that might give him any indication of where he was. His hand slid cautiously over the sheets, which seemed to stretch on forever, until his fingers brushed up against something warm. Jerking back, Harry realized that he wasn't alone.

"Hello?" he managed with a feeling of profound trepidation. He'd seen one too many cartoons about morning-afters. Even though he was certain he hadn't done anything he hadn't done before. He took a minute to think about that last thought before shaking it away when another, more horrible though popped in. Dear God, what if it was someone, like Milicent Bullstrode? What had he been doing?

Deep, regular breathing was the only answer and Harry reached out, found what seemed to be an arm and shook it.

"Hn. Ah- What? What?"

Harry's heart slammed into his mouth, coppery and thick.

"Potter? What is it?" Malfoy asked.

"I- uhm. What am I doing in your bed?" Harry managed, flushing.

There was rustling as Malfoy turned more towards Harry, "When I came back you were sleeping like a log on my bed. I tried to wake you but you seemed keen on staying exactly where you were. And, trust me, you're too heavy to carry all the way to the guest room."

As he began to remember Harry realized he was fully clothed and not actually lying under the smooth sheets, but rather on them, covered by a thick woolly blanket. He turned the other way and found a hard surface with a cold object in the middle of it. He curled his fingers around it; his glasses. Malfoy must've removed them. He tried not to linger on the image of Malfoy's fingers carefully flitting over his face as he lifted the spectacles away.

"Do you want me to go to the guest room?" Harry asked, sliding his glasses on nose. It was still dark, but he could make out where Malfoy lay on account of his white-blond hair. It brought to mind a dandelion clock. Though he was sure Malfoy would resent that analogy.

After a rather long, considering pause, Malfoy answered sleepily, "You can go if you want, but I'm not getting up to show you."

"So you don't mind-"

Malfoy interjected rather quickly, his voice suddenly sharp, "If I'd been unable to stand your presence on my bed, you'd have known by now. I would've shoved you onto the floor without a moment's hesitation. And I will do so if you don't shut up and go to sleep,"

"Okay," Harry said, his heart knocking urgently against his ribcage. It was easy to slide to the edge of the bed, what with those sheets and he felt carefully until his feet touched the ground.

"Leaving?" Malfoy queried.

Harry shook his head, remembered Malfoy could not see it and answered, "No, just-" He didn't finish. Undressing sounded overtly... something embarrassing right now. Carefully he put his glasses away before he pulled his jumper over his head. Then he struggled out of his socks and trousers. The lush carpet felt quite nice under his toes as Harry straightened his t-shirt and boxers, the clothing rumpled and in disarray after dozing off as he had.

Reaching for the bed, Harry felt for the edge of the satin sheets, lifted them and slid beneath.

The sheets slid in an incorrigibly sensual manner against his skin. His heart still racing, Harry began to doubt the wisdom of his choice. There was no way he'd get any sleep at all, knowing that Malfoy was an arm's length away from him.

"Potter?"

"Hm."

"If you kick me, I'll saw that body part off."

"Sure thing, Malfoy."

"Just saying."

"Of course."

There was another short silence, but judging by the quality of it Malfoy wasn't finished yet.

"Potter?"

"Yeah, Malfoy?"

"If I told Terry Boot I got you in my bed, do you think he'd cry?"

"You have some serious issues Malfoy."

"I'm just wondering!"

"Are you sure it is me you want in your bed and not Terry? Since you are so clearly obsessed by him."

Malfoy made a sound like Harry had produced lobster from the air and had smacked him around the head with it.

"Just saying." Harry echoed, lips working around a smile.

"Make note of this, Potter. First thing in the morning I'm going to saw of your head and bury it in a bed of winter heaths. The rest I'll bake into a meat pie of and feed it to the Weasleys. And when they ask; 'why Draco, this is delicious, what is the secret ingredient?' I'll be able to say, 'Potter' and watch them go stark raving bonkers."

"Sure thing, Malfoy, sure thing..."

--

When Harry's eyes fluttered open he was just momentarily disoriented of his whereabouts. As soon as he remembered being in Draco Malfoy's bed he became aware of the fact that he was precariously balanced on the edge of said bed. That might be due to the fact that Malfoy's bony elbow was wedged somewhere against his back, increasingly close to chucking Harry onto the bedside rug. Secondly he became aware of having a slight, yet sharp headache spreading along his forehead.

He laid there for a few uncomfortable seconds before he realized he should probably go to and visit the loo. Sliding the last inch out of the bed, Harry made sure he had both feet planted firmly on the ground before standing up. The wine had, besides the faint headache, also made its consequences known by feeling a bit queasy to the stomach.

When he came back, Malfoy had rolled away, half on his back and arms spread wide. How was it possible for one human being to take up so much space? He stood observing the blond, taking in the sharp angles of his face, the features softened in sleep. A row of neat, white teeth could be seen peeking though slightly opened lips. His brows were relaxed, which lent him an oddly vulnerable look. His blonde hair haloed around his head on the pillow, fine strands luminous in the half-dark. Through the V of his button-up pajama shirt, his collarbone was a sharp slice bordered by a deep shadow. No, Draco Malfoy was not exactly handsome. Not in the way Finbar or Blaise was, but he was striking.

Harry slid back into the bed, absolutely not thinking wicked thoughts about a certain person.

--

The second time he woke, it was due to the harsh bars of sunlight insistently stabbing at his closed eyelids. Reluctantly he opened them, blinking blearily ahead of him. It took a while for his mind to arrange the pieces into something he could actually make sense of. Malfoy was facing him.

Immediately he was completely alert as he realized Malfoy's eyes were open and looking at him steadily.

Harry blinked and looked back.

The blond was curled on his side, relaxed and comfortable. Harry was still lying on his back, but with his head turned to the side, one arm dangling over the edge. He stared back, almost questioning.

It was strangely simple.

It wasn't even awkward. Harry had all the time in the world to try and figure out of Malfoy's eyes were gray or blue. Right now they seemed more blue. It wasn't as though they did something as unnatural as change colors, but it definitely depended on the light and on how wide his eyes were. Malfoy had this habit of lowering his eyelids a bit, especially when he wanted to keep people at a wary distance. He leered and sneered. With his eyes shuttered like that his eyes were shaded, darker. But now, with his face easy and neutral, the window behind Harry made his eyes look more blue. With a start they reminded him suddenly of Sirius' eyes. They were related after a fashion, weren't they?

The longer Harry looked, the more he wanted to reach for Malfoy's face and kiss him. He almost believed he could do it, because Malfoy had this funny _look_ on his face. But Harry never was very good at picking up hints like that and he stared back, afraid to do move lest he startle Malfoy. But. It was a look as potent as a caress and Malfoy seemed afraid and desperate and Harry wanted to say his name and-

Malfoy stretched and the moment was gone.

"You talk in your sleep," Malfoy said, smiling a bit as he sat up. His fair hair was mussed in a serious case of bed-hair.

Harry jerked up, worried, "Did I. er. say something?"

Malfoy had his back to him as he mumbled, "Nothing much that could be translated to English, that's for sure."

Malfoy showed him to the shower in one of the guest-rooms, where Harry proceeded to wash in one of the biggest damn showers he'd ever seen. He could've comfortably washed and moved about with three more people in the tiled space, so big it was. There were tons of little buttons on the shower head too, but he didn't dare press them lest it'd call for a butler or god knew what else. The shampoo was luxurious, almost like liquid silk in the palm of his hand and not of a generic brand you could buy in the supermarket. Same with the soap, which came out of an elegantly stoppered bottle, which was not glass, but something else that made a strange, clear ringing sound when he accidently knocked it against the edge of the gracefully inlaid self.

Afterwards Harry enjoyed a breakfast of the likes he'd never experienced before. There were only two of them, yet there was enough to feed a small army. Harry had two pieces of fruit, a bowl of muesli, bacon and eggs and was currently working on an eclair, all in the time it took Malfoy to consume one chocolate bar. He ate it the same as he always did, making a ritual out of it; dipping it in a cup of steaming coffee and then sucking of the melted part and looking as if he'd never tasted something as wonderful before.

Eclair gone, Harry peered around the endless selection and reached out for a sandwich with delicate fronds of lettuce poking out from the sides.

"You'd think they never feed you," Malfoy said, stirring his chocolate in his coffee. He'd asked the butler a triple espresso, eyes wide and edgy like an addict.

Harry swallowed guiltily, "Sorry. It's just that, it's all so good! I could keep eating."

"By all means," Malfoy replied, gesturing with his mug to the table.

It was as much as a breakfast as it was lunch, since they'd slept incredibly late. If the house staff was perplexed by Harry's presence, they didn't show it and treated Harry in such a courteous manner that he regularly stumbled over his words with 'oh no, thanks' or 'I'm fine, thank you'. Malfoy watched him with a smile, working on his third mug of coffee.

Just as Harry sat back, sated, his mobile phone went off. He grabbed for it hastily. "Hello? Oh, Ron!" His eyes flew to Malfoy, who was watching him with a smirk, "Yes, sure. Oh. Er? I'm. I'm at -ah- frien- not home. So er. Yeah."

Malfoy gave him a look that screamed 'smoothly covered, Potter, you big lump'.

He had to turn his head to keep Malfoy from distracting him "What? Oh sure, mate. Ah, you mean now? I -uh-" he glanced at his watch, "I think I could be there in about an hour that okay? Sure. Cheers." He pressed the red cancel button and tucked away his phone.

Malfoy arched his expressive brows.

"Ron, obviously. He's at Everlind's and asked me to come. I-"

They were interrupted when another mobile, this time Draco's, went off.

"Yes? Blaise. Sure. Not sure. Okay. Later." He put his phone down and sipped coffee.

A conversation made up of exactly seven words. It had to be a record. He blinked at Malfoy, who seemed to take it for a question.

"Zabini. Wants me to come to Everlind's."

There was a terse silence, and in the stillness between them lay the knowledge that they would have to lie to cover up something that really shouldn't have been such a big deal. A teenager's life could be cast into a tangle of complications by such trivial things. Like getting along with your best friend's least favorite person on the world. It was best not to think about it too much, since it was too silly for words.

"Shit," Harry said.

"What? It's simple, you stumble in first, mumble your inadequate excuses and after an appropriate amount of time I'll waltz in, fashionably late and join my own friends. Nothing suspicious about it, unless, Potter, you act suspicious." He pushed back his chair and said with a smirk, "In short, you are well and truly doomed."

"Thanks Malfoy," Harry said with tense eye-roll. He straightened as well, "I'm going then. See you Monday?"

"Whoa-" Malfoy rounded the table, "Potter, please tell me I'm mistaken, but are you really planning on going outside in those rumpled rags? You look like something that might have perished weeks ago."

"Hey! They're only a little creased, no need to-"

"Creased?" Malfoy raised his hands to the ceiling as if praying for some divine force to grant him strength, "You _slept _in those! I know you're not the snappiest dresser around, but Potter, I beg of you-" he made an erratic and expansive gesture, as if only just preventing himself to beg him, "don't do it!"

"Maybe you haven't noticed, Malfoy, but I can hardly go naked"-he ignored Malfoy's wild snort-"and by the time I've gone home to change and made it back to Everlind's, it'll take ages. I said I'd be there in an hour, so-"

"STOP!" Malfoy grabbed him by the front of his jumper and began forcefully dragging him along.

"Hey- What?"

"I'll never forgive myself if I let you leave my house like this. Ask yourself, Potter, deep down, don't you feel remorseful? Haven't your lumpy jumpers infected enough pain and misery on the world already? Consider other people's _feelings_, Potter-"

He might've felt offended, if it hadn't been so amusing. He let Draco manhandle him while he listened with a faint smile to his martyred exclamations.

It stopped being amusing when it dawned on him what Malfoy was planning on doing.

Struggling was in vain, because Malfoy all but propelled him into the walk-in-wardrobe.

"Malfoy-" Harry began pleadingly.

"Silence!" he said, while holding up a finger.

Harry spluttered off as Malfoy proceeded with giving him an utterly appraising look. It made Harry want to attempt to cover parts of his anatomy that weren't even visible. It was _that_ penetrating. No pun intended, of course.

"Right," the blonde bit out and turned around, diving between rows after rows of clothing articles. After a moment trousers began flying through the air as if the wardrobe was having convulsive bouts of vomiting.

Harry stood watching them cover the marble floor around his feet when Malfoy said reprovingly, "Potter, you're supposed to try them on? I think those should fit you, since they're big on me. Bit long in the legs perhaps. But anything will do, as long as you don't go in the living world in what you're currently dressed in. What?" He added as he caught Harry's horrified expression.

"Er, I-I ah-"

"I'm not going to _peek, _honestly..." Malfoy threw a pair of denims at him and disappeared between his monstrous collection of clothes, "It's not because girls in school swoon when you deign to talk to them or because Boot can't physically restrain himself from committing acts of grabbing upon your person that everybody is panting after you. I'm not about to jump you, Potter, you big pansy."

Harry briefly toyed with replying 'what if I want you to jump me?' but decided against it. Malfoy's workbench and saw were too close for comfort.

Never before had he so quickly struggled into a pair of denims. He immediately felt they were too tight and was about to peel them off again when Malfoy popped out from between a pair of shirts to his left.

Harry yelped and nearly mangled a rather tender part of himself when zipping himself up with such force.

Completely unabashed, Malfoy nudged him to get a better view of all possible perspectives before pulling back and disappearing again. "You're fatter than you look. Those are still not right-"

It was a struggle to blurt "I'm not fat" and "nothing about you is right" out at the same time.

Malfoy ignored him and somehow stepped from between the racks to his right now, holding another pair of denims. "Here, these ought to do. I ordered these in a few sizes from a catalogue once, so I was sure one would fit perfectly. These are possibly the largest pair I own."

He dutifully turned away from Harry as he wrung himself into the offered pair.

"Well?"

"No way, they're killing me, I swear-" Harry squirmed and decided he'd ask Hermione to start a club against such offensively clinging denims. They couldn't possible be lucrative for any future offspring he might intend to sire.

Malfoy had turned and regarded him with an utterly aghast look on his face. He seemed faintly disgusted. "What are you babbling about?" He suddenly snarled.

Harry started badly by the cold fury in Malfoy's voice.

"They're perfect. God, I don't understand how that godfather of yours could have raised you to wear only garments that could fit at least four grown men. I swear." He was once more digging through stacks of clothes, not looking at Harry, as if the brunet had offended him in some ghastly manner.

Deciding that Malfoy would never make sense, he cast a deeply dismayed look at his lower body. It wasn't because he was gay that he had to look gay. He was about to point this out, but came to the realization that Malfoy would be deeply offended. Since they were his trousers and he probably wouldn't be amused by Harry calling them gay. Malfoy was oddly sensitive like that.

He was feverishly trying to come up with some excuse when Malfoy nearly suffocated him with a red woolen thing.

"Here. That should do it. There's no force on earth that could probably do something about your hair, but at least I've lowered the hazard by heart-attack-upon-sight," Without as so much as looking at Harry he strode out of the wardrobe.

Confused by his sudden adversity towards him, Harry gingerly unfolded the red square of wool. It was a turtleneck that looked as though it had never been worn, deep red and utterly, luxuriously soft.

After looking at the diverse contents in the wardrobe, it probably was the only red garment Malfoy possessed.

With an uneasy feeling lodged deep in his belly, Harry shrugged out of his own jumper and pulled the turtleneck over his head.

--

When Harry walked into Everlind's he could clearly _hear_ where his friends were. The lot of them had commandeered the whole right corner by the window, having arranged the tables around so they could sit together. The first thing he saw though was Zabini and a friend of theirs, whose name currently escaped him. As the door clicked shut behind him, Zabini's eyes swiveled towards him. Blaise looked at him, and a smile blossomed on his face, but shriveled just as quickly. It was still wavering there uncertainly when he used his hand to shield his eyes against the sun that streamed through the wide windows behind Harry. Bright brown eyes flicked up and down Harry's body, starting with the trousers and ending on the turtleneck. Then his eyebrows did a terrible dance of innuendo.

Harry flushed brilliantly instantly. There was no way Zabini could know. It wouldn't even make sense. If Zabini was thinking what Harry feared he was thinking the only logical reaction for Zabini to have would be to have a serious conniption fit. But when had Zabini ever made sense when it came to social interaction? He blew hot and cold all the time. And he couldn't possibly suspect, let alone know, anything. Right? Right?

Then again, that whole family was psychic.

Avoiding Zabini's strange look, he went over to where his friends were. Only when he was standing right behind Ginny did they notice him. Their reactions were instantaneous.

Lavender, who had been folding a napkin into a crane, looked up, blinking. Upon spotting him she blinked as if she'd received a blow from a hammer between her eyes. After a pause she managed, "Dear me, Harry, you look gorgeous!"

It was then that both Darragh and Finbar looked over their shoulders at him.

Finbar's lips did an odd quirk, along with his eyebrows. Which was too similar to Zabini's reaction for Harry's comfort.

Darragh glanced, did a double take, and promptly choked on his ice-cream. A strangled noise came from him as if he were regurgitating more than just his dessert. Immediately Alex began walloping him on the back.

What the latter was doing at their table mystified Harry momentarily, but wondering about that was the least of his troubles when Alex narrowed her eyes. They darted to the red of the turtleneck and her mouth made a strange shape, and by the time her eyes had dipped to his trousers she had regained speech again. An accusing finger pointed at him, swinging up and down between the red at his throat and the denim on his legs.

"Hey!" she exclaimed and Harry felt himself go quite pale, "I gave, I- that jumper. And-and those trousers! They're D-"

Finbar elbowed her so sharply that she knocked into Darragh, who went on another bout of choking on his ice cream.

The whole table shot them a look askance.

Finbar interjected pleasantly, as though commenting on the weather, "Dolce and Gabbana, those trousers, aren't they? Nice."

Alex was still openly staring at him. "Oh God," she managed faintly and nearly fell over the legs of her chair in her rush to get to Zabini. Not a word could be heard from the heated whispering she began pouring into his ear, but for Blaise's pointed 'If was sort of painfully obvious, though, wasn't it?'

Unsure if he wanted to know in which context that was said, Harry made a sort of helpless grimace at his friends.

Patting the seat Alex had vacated, Finbar said, "Come on, Harry. Sit down."

Knowing he was beet-red in the face, Harry slid next to Finbar.

If Ron suspected something, he didn't show it. He just said brightly, "Hey there mate, I was worried you weren't going to show up. Did you have to come from far?"

"Er," Harry dropped his eyes, "Yeah, a bit, yeah."

The evasiveness of that answer would make sure Ron would be skeptical now. Harry wondered how deep he would be able to dig his hole before it came crashing down around him.

Luckily for him, Finbar, whatever his opinion on the matter, seemed to have his back on this at least. He got the conversation going again, steering it skillfully away from Harry personally, but including him so he managed to blend in with his friends again as if nothing had changed. He managed it so well, even, that after a good hour they'd sunk to the usual level of intelligence. In the case of a bunch of seventeen-year-olds that meant it was low level indeed. Even knowing that Seamus was anything but stupid, seeing him absolutely revel in his wild caffeine-induced rambling made it hard to take him very seriously.

Right now he was coaxing each and every one of them to try and touch their nose with the tip of their tongue. Apparently he had heard from some girls that it was the mark of a skilled kisser. Hermione firmly told him it was a load of codswallop, but there was no stopping Seamus when he got going.

To everybody's ever-lasting shock, Neville was the first to do it.

"Okay, it's codswallop," Seamus admitted after a stunned pause.

"Hey," Neville said in what seemed a as rather a token protest.

It didn't stop him from trying to get everybody to do it, though. Finbar refused, suddenly having seemed to have slid into a rather dark mood and could not be swayed. Harry tried to refuse, too, but relented, already knowing he'd fail. Then they came to Darragh, who had been very quiet up until them.

"Now you, Darragh!" Seamus hollered enthusiastically.

With small sigh, the brunette sat back and pointedly touched his nose with the tip of his tongue. In response to the jeering catcalls, he responded simply, "Finbar can do it, too."

"Not going to," Finbar said quickly, quelling Seamus with a dark look.

"Heck my whole family can," Darragh added, "even my mum and my cousins," he twisted in his seat and called over to Zabini, "Oi Blaise, touch your nose with your tongue, will you?"

Arching his dark brows, he said mildly, "Why should I?"

"Just do it, dear cousin mine?"

Harry had been dead-on sure Zabini would refuse engaging in something so silly. But with a exasperated look on his face, Blaise touched his nose with the tip of his tongue.

Some of the girls at Harry's table made strangled noises of delight. Hermione was not one of them, no, she was looking highly disapproving of them all.

"Zabini, my friend, you are truly a man with many hidden talents,"

Harry did not have to turn to know who it was. Retracting his head as much as possible into the high neck of the jumper, much as tortoise would, Harry stared avidly at his mug of cocoa.

Behind him, Malfoy could be heard striding over to where his friends were seated. Even the sound of his footfalls were slightly haughty. A surprised laugh came next, "Nott! However did they manage to lure you out of your lair? Amazing! Let me buy you a drink..."

Around Harry the conversation at his own table had moved on, with Seamus now wanting to see if they could make a 'U' shape with their tongue. Smiling vaguely at the lot of them, Harry didn't catch a single word, his whole awareness directed behind him, back tingling as if somehow he'd manage to sense what Malfoy was doing, or if the blonde had so much as glanced at him, or which expressive gestures he was currently sketching with his hands. It seemed surreal that barely three hours ago they'd woken up in the same bed.

"Harry?"

He started, "Sorry, Seamus, I didn't catch that-"

"Never mind, you dork!"

Smiling woodenly, Harry forced his attention back to the people around him.

Just in time to see Ron frown and look away from him.

-*-

I truly hope you've all enjoyed this chapter. I had a good time writing it!

Jules has been a champ beta-ing and smoothing some of my more awkward parts out, be sure to honor her vigilant typo-slaying!

As always, you lot are the most amazing reviewers. I love you guys for your patient waiting and encouraging words.

Chapter title comes from Peter, Bjön and John - Young Folks


	19. Bitter Sweet Symphony

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters and the whole world created around it; all belong to J.K. Rowling, who we all worship and serve. I just love to manipulate them to serve my own selfish needs. But I do own Alex Ladon, Finbar Ganad, Darragh Ganad (and their mom), The Zabini Family (bar Blaise of course), and some minor characters (Orion, North, Gloves, Rufus…). DO NOT USE THESE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!

The plot comes from the voices inside my head. You have been warned.

Chapter Nineteen - Bitter Sweet Symphony

_"Prove it." - Harry Potter_

Draco slumped back is seat at Everlind's, staring in disbelief at his three companions. He'd just delivered the most incredible monologue about the joys and terrors of celebrating New Year's Eve with his family, more specifically when his crazy Aunt Bella came visiting. He had a ton of material to draw on when it came to Aunt Bellatrix. If you managed to get over wanting to shit your pants when meeting her, you'd come to know that she was as loopy as a roller-coaster. Not only did she believe she possessed magical super-powers, but she talked about politics in a way it made Adolf Hitler's reign seem like putty.

Nevertheless, it seemed he could have been expounding about life's greatest mysteries for all his audience seemed to care.

"Are you three even listening?" He demanded knowing he sounded like a spoiled brat. He couldn't help it. Things inside of him were helter-skelter and he needed them to ground him. Wanting nothing more than to just be around them, wrestle with Alex' at times major-bitch mode, Blaise's endless riddled hints and innuendoes and Theo's dry and emotionless truths. Even though those attitudes annoyed him royally at times, right now he needed them to reassure him that the world was not flat and that Hell had yet to freeze over.

Blaise quirked an eyebrow at him, a rather disconcerting smirk sitting on his lips. "Hanging on to every word," he said smoothly.

When he turned to Alex, she was doing the same thing she'd been doing ever since he'd arrived; staring at him. Not any ordinary stare either. No, it was the patented 'I'm so on to you'-stare. So not something he wanted to deal with.

He was almost afraid to look at Nott. But he did, because honestly, what was the worst Theodore could do but creep him out?

He was not disappointed. Nott was very much his usual apathetic, weedy-looking self. And when he spoke, it was in his monotonous drone, "I'm sorry. I wasn't listening."

"Nice," Draco said, flinging his hand in the air dramatically, "why ever not? What is it that prevents you from fully appreciating the witty wonder that is me? I honestly though that the story of Aunt Bella and the lobster tank was quite possibly the height of my career."

"Oh, but it is!" Nott said earnestly. At least, Draco though he was earnest. It was so hard to tell with Nott.

"And what could be ever so fascinating that you don't feel like giving me a standing ovation?"

"I am just wondering something," Theodore said, eyes wide yet almost as lively as those of a dead fish.

Waiting for it, but deciding it was not going to come without him dragging it out of Nott, he prompted, "Which is?"

"It might be a bit personal, really," he glanced away and back, a shifty look of there ever was one. "Just sort of curious what you're going to do about your lusting after Harry Potter. It's kind of starting to get old and I'm sort of wishing you'd just let him have at you so we can-"

He didn't get any further because Draco had made a strange little noise that seemed to get stuck in the back of his throat like a possibly fatal shard of chicken bone.

While he was busy having a fit, Alex had the presence of mind to shush Nott. "Theo! Subtlety ring a bell? Look at what you did to him! Draco, are you-"

"I MOST CERTAINLY AM NOT LUSTING IN ANY WAY AFTER P-"

Blaise kicked him, hard.

In a purely instinctive reaction he curled in on himself, hands flying to his shin gingerly. Through the red haze he praised Blaise's timely interference.

Nevertheless his shout had called attention onto them and Alex said loudly (in a terrible fake tone) into the silence that had descended on Everlind's, "After me. Psh, Theo, why would Draco lust after me in a sexual way? Then again, he does. Like me. In a sexual way. But most often in a way that speaks of proper respect and desire that is normal in a relationship between a man and a woman. But we have sex too. Sure. There is lusting. Naturally. At it like bunnies, the two of us... someone please stop me."

Blaise handed her his espresso which she downed in one gulp.

When the completely bewildered clientele of Everlind's had turned away from the four of them, Draco rested his forehead on the table and croaked, "Thank you. That was nearly disastrous. Can we go now, please?"

Alex mumbled feebly from behind her hands, "What part of that was not disastrous?"

Blindly taking out a note that was worth double of what they owed, Draco slapped it on the table and strode out of Everlind's feeling faint from the pit of his stomach. He took care not to glance to his right when he left the pub.

His friends let him walk on in peace, until he managed to calm down. Only when he could relax his hands out from tightly curled fists did he slow down. Theo was on his left, Alex and Blaise on his right.

In a very tight voice he asked, "Did you tell him?"

"No," answered Alex simply.

"Then how-"

Theo interrupted him, "I knew ever since you got Potter to nearly put his fist through your head. You're never physically aggressive and the way the two of you fought..."

"But I don't even like Potter, let alone want... him..." he hitched on 'want' and trailed of miserably. He was happy when none of them called him a liar.

Could his day get anymore fucked up?

"I think it is needless to say that you're never to breathe even a word of this to anyone?" Draco asked in a quiet and small voice.

"Of course," said Theo.

By now they had entered the park. There was a bitter chill and they huddled together. Their breaths made steamy puffs in front of them. It was the kind of crisp chill that painted silver crystals on the edges of the dead leaves underfoot. They crunched in protest with every step they took.

"Draco," Alex said softly, and her hand slid into his.

It was enough to make him hunch his shoulders in dread.

"Don't you think it's about time-"

"No," he said harshly.

"Hush, hear me out," Alex said sternly, but in a kind way. "I think that if you're completely honest with yourself, you don't want to hide it anymore. And you know why?"

"Enlighten me," he snarled.

His tone did not deter Alex, and she said what he'd known she would, "If you really did not want anybody to know, you would not have dressed Harry in your obviously bloody expensive trousers and you would not have given him the red turtleneck I gave you last year. I think"-she ignored Draco's attempt at denial-"you've grown tired of pretending. I think that you really like Harry. I think you sort of tried to mark him by dressing him so obviously in your clothes. I think you're hoping to be found out."

"Why would I want to be found out? Why would I even want to go there again? One battle with my father was quite enough. It only served to land me in new school with a serious dent in my self-image," he said with an air of obviously faked nonchalance.

"So your dad is a narrow-minded prick," Alex tossed out casually, "that's awful. But is it really enough to hide behind me or some other pretend-girlfriend for the rest of your life?"

"Maybe-"

"Or are you still not sure you are alright with being homosexual? Some part of you that still thinks you'll go to hell if you fuck another bloke?" Alex was getting crass and it meant she was getting worked up. "If you still think that, I'd suggest getting a castration because there is nothing that will change the way you feel-"

"It's not that!" Draco said loudly.

"Then what is it? Besides Lucius, what is worth hiding yourself from?" Alex implored emphatically. They'd stopped in the middle of a thankfully deserted path. Blaise and Theo were both watching him, apparently and unfairly feeling less awkward about this conversation than him.

"I," he said shrilly, but it was the only word he found, "I don't...I don't know."

And he didn't. Know anything. About what he wanted, and why wanting scared him so much. About being and why that made him uneasy. About feeling and what it implied.

Alex wound her fingers through his and said with a small smile, "Don't you think that's a silly reason?"

When he opened his mouth to answer she shushed him, "No need to answer that. Just think about it. You're seventeen. It's about time you stopped being such a scared little shit."

And with that, they walked on pointedly talking about a completely unrelated topic.

Draco trailed behind pondering Alex's words.

-=-

An hour or so after Malfoy's rather dramatic exit, Harry was working on his second mug of cocoa. Alex' declaration that she and Malfoy fucked like bunnies had, needless to say, considerably soured Harry's mood. And that was putting it lightly. He wasn't even pretending to listen to his friends anymore. He just wasn't. He wasn't anything. Not even angry, really. Just numb and inexplicably tired.

It just so happens that there are days when one horrid thing happens after another. Luckily, Harry seemed to have gotten his portion for today. Not so lucky when the next round was dished out to Darragh.

One moment they'd all been sitting and chatting (everyone other than Harry; he was too busy feeling nothing) and the next Darragh gave a strange lurch next to him, and was out of his seat and the pub by the next. On his other side Finbar cussed an ugly word, a feat completely out of character for him, and stared intently through the window.

The whole table followed his line of sight.

Outside, in the gray December light, stood Darragh and Orion. Darragh had his hands in his pockets in a forced manner, as if he wanted to either appear casual or restrain himself from touching the other. Orion just stood looking miserable and sick.

That was all they had time to take in before Finbar uttered a forceful 'fuck' and rushed through the door. In that very same instant Darragh had leapt for Orion, his fist connecting twice with Orion's face before they hit the ground. Harry was after Finbar before he had time to progress the meaning. He heard footsteps of the others thundering behind him.

As they sprinted forward Harry saw how Darragh, sitting on Orion's abdomen, punched him over and over with a frightening methodical rage. Finbar tried to pull him away, but being his brother, he could not bring himself to hurt his sibling, who shook him of with one harsh shove.

Harry was more than close enough to hear the disgusting sound of a face being hit by a powerful force and to see Orion trying to shield himself, but making no attempt to retaliate. Next thing he knew, he'd pushed past Finbar and grabbed Darragh around the torso. The latter grunted and got Harry with his elbow right between his ribs.

This is what they called going berserk.

Gritting his teeth Harry got hold of the arm that had been hitting Orion and twisted it mercilessly behind his back. It must've hurt like hell because Harry knew he was forcing it almost to breaking point, but still Darragh fought and bucked and raged.

Dean and Ron grabbed Orion and dragged him away.

Harry was vaguely surprised the blond was still conscious. The larger part of his conscious was acting on pure instinct and he slung an arm around Darragh's chest to keep him from twisting away.

Spitting out blood and a shard of teeth, Orion got to his feet, shrugging off Dean's helping hands. In that very same instant, Darragh went limp in Harry's grasp. Yet he held on, just to make sure, and Harry heard himself and Darragh panting like they'd run a marathon.

The silence was terrible.

Everybody pretended not to see Orion's tears through the blood on his face. Nobody looked at Darragh's hunched form.

Harry hung on.

"It's okay," Darragh whispered hoarsely, "you can let go now."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, sure."

Harry let him go.

Remaining on his knees, he watched Darragh stand up and turn towards Orion. His breathing was still erratic, but the rest of him had gone motionless. He looked at Orion for a long, long time, the moment stretching all until Harry was sure they'd still be there in the morrow if nobody said anything soon. Then, in a calm, almost polite voice Darragh said, "I'd rather not ever see you again."

Orion spat out some more blood, "Darragh-"

"Shut. Up."

"Do you think I want to get married to some-"

"I said: Shut. Up!"

"I love y-"

"SHUT UP!" Darragh thundered.

Everybody who had previously been shuffling about uneasily was shocked into a statue-like stillness.

Darragh took a deep shuddering breath and said in a painfully controlled voice, "Goodbye," to Orion and then, voice quaking, to Finbar, "I'd like to go home now, please."

Finbar took him away.

The rest stared after them. Dean, who was the bravest when it came down to emotional conflicts tried to put a hand on Orion's shoulder once more. Upon contact the blond twisted away, threw them a tormented look and resolutely strode towards his motorcycle, rubbing blood and tears on his sleeve in the progress.

Harry's knees popped when Seamus hoisted him up.

"Fucking hell," Ron surmised astutely for all of them.

-=-

Harry left Everlind's early. Early being in the late afternoon. About five hours since he'd been sleeping in a bed with Draco. About two hours since Darragh had lost his mind along with heart. There was nothing he could do about Malfoy. He'd texted him a few minutes ago, asking whether the blond wanted to meet up early Monday morning, but he had yet to receive a reply. The situation with the prat was quite beyond his grasp and possibly even beyond his maturity level, meaning way too involved and complicated and just plain migraine-inducing. He could try and wrack his brain over it for the rest of the day and just probably end up feeling sorry for himself since there just was no clear answer.

So instead of wasting his time, well pining, he decided to put the last hours of this utterly pear-shaped day to some good.

After informing Sirius where he was going and that he was going to be late, he took the bus as far as it would go and then walked for nearly half an hour. The further away he went from the heart of the community, the brighter the stars shone and the more visible they became. The only light besides that of the moon was that of a house in the distance, half hiding behind the hedge and bare silhouettes of apple trees. By the time he pressed the doorbell, he was well and truly freezing his arse off. A Christmas wreath was mounted in the middle of the door, decorated with red and gold ribbons, true holiday colors.

The door opened, blasting a delicious waft of warm air into Harry's face, defrosting his nose marginally. Finbar, wearing an apron that said 'Kiss the Cook', blinked at him in a teddy bear like way. The fact that he was holding a murderously huge kitchen knife sort of ruined the image.

"Harry," he said, lowering the knife self-consciously, "come in."

"Hullo," Harry said lowly. With a raised eyebrow at the knife he said, "Expecting a certain someone?" He didn't add 'Orion' since that would be like pointing out the earth orbited the sun.

When Finbar just grimaced tightly, Harry decided it was probably not a good idea to enquire any further. He busied himself with peeling off his multiude of layers and trailed after Finbar. Meanwhile all the dogs had been roused and were jumping around Harry in ecstasy, licking at his hands and face if he dared to pat them on the head. He nearly crashed into the huge and genuine Christmas tree when three of the dogs leaped at him simultaneously and he had to grab at Finbar to keep himself on both feet. The dogs calmed considerably when Finbar said a clear and commanding 'down boys' as they entered the kitchen. Harry found out just why Finbar was wearing an apron.

He was baking muffins.

The sight of tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome Finbar baking muffins sort of stumped Harry.

"What?" Finbar asked maneuvering a steaming plate of muffins out of the oven.

Harry gestured uselessly around, "You. Baking muffins. It's just... you're like the Coca Cola Light man, you know?"

"The what?"

After coughing into his hand to hide a small blush, Harry clarified, "You know, that good-looking guy that walks into an office full of women carrying a crate of Diet Coke? And there's that song 'I Just Wanna Make Love To You' playing. It's a commercial..." He shut himself up.

Finbar let out a deep chuckle, "Why Harry, I had no idea you felt that way."

"Oh, get lost," Harry mumbled, "you know what I mean."

Raising an amused eyebrow Finbar, wearing oven mittens, carefully put the muffins on a big plate. When Harry mumbled 'even wearing mittens' under his breath, Finbar just smiled some more.

Nevertheless, despite the banter, Finbar seemed drawn and distracted. Harry just went ahead and asked, "How's he doing?"

Pulling the mittens off, Finbar leaned on the counter, exhausted. "Frankly? I'm not sure. I hate that I'm not sure since he's my brother and I want to make this right."

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably.

"I guess I'm too close to him to make something like this right," Finbar added thoughtfully, but in a way that suggested he blamed himself entirely for this shortcoming.

After a short pause in which both of them collected their thoughts, Harry asked, "Do you think he'd mind if I check up on him? Or is it too soon?"

The expression on Finbar's face clearly spoke of how relieved he was with Harry's offer, that he'd been hoping for it but had not wanted to burden him by asking himself. "No, I think he wouldn't mind at all," he said with a smile.

Harry allowed Finbar to push him a plate of muffins in his hands, before setting off. Finbar, very briefly, gripped his shoulder in gratitude.

Balancing the plate with care, Harry went up the wooden stairs, feeling trepidation pooling behind his navel. He had no idea how Darragh would react, let alone what state he was in. He remembered where Darragh's room was, having had a glance at it before, but never for a long visit. Taking a steadying breath, resolving to not fumble awkwardly with his words, Harry knocked lightly. When he didn't get an answer, he cracked open the door and peeked in.

"Don't want to talk about it, Finbar... do want those muffins though."

Harry had to smile at that. He stepped fully into the room. To his utter relief, Darragh was neither crying or having hysterics or destroying his room. Instead he was laying face-down on his bed, sprawling, half-dressed. Not half-dressed as in only wearing trousers, but, even though all proper articles of clothing were present on his body, they just were ...half-on. As if he'd just decided doing it properly required too much energy. The only thing that was more or less properly on were his trousers though his belt was only threaded through half of the loops on his jeans. His t-shirt, on the other hand, was literally half-on. As in he'd only put his head and one arm through the respective holes, the rest was still rucked up in a bunch of fabric above the bare shoulder.

"No on the Finbar part, yes to the muffin part," Harry said, making his voice sound as normal as possible.

Darragh gave a startled jerk, rolling over with such force he nearly went over the edge of his bed. He sat up and stared at Harry. There were no red rims around his eyes to hint at him having cried. He was only a bit pale and his hair was wet as if he'd come out of the shower recently.

"Er, hi?" Harry offered, holding out the plate with muffins.

Looking at the plate with a bemused expression on his face, Darragh reached for it. He immediately put it on his cabinet. "Harry," he said, still sounding somewhat surprised.

"Hi," Harry repeated himself, "Am I interrupting?"

That seemed to jerk him out of his strange state, "Oh, no," he smiled ruefully, "not unless you count wrestling with feeling sorry for myself and feeling guilty a valid way to spend my Saturday afternoon."

"Guilty?" Harry closed the door behind him softly and debated whether to sit in the vacated chair at the desk or with Darragh on the bed.

Darragh looked away, sucking in his lower lip for a moment, "Well, I rather did sort of attacked him. I mean, there was blood in my hair. God."

That explained the shower, then.

"And now, when I sort of realize what he was actually saying, I feel as though I've no right to react that way. I mean..." His eyes flicked to Harry and then veered away.

Belatedly, Harry decided to sit on the bed. "You don't..."

"No, no," Darragh swung his legs over the edge, so he was sitting properly next to Harry, "If you don't mind, I'd want to-"

"Sure,"

"Okay," he said on a breath, "He's…"

He stopped abruptly and the look on his face suggested as though he had a something sharp imbedded in his heart that was slowly being wrenched around. "He's, he's... He's getting married." Darragh said, sounding terribly confused.

"What?" Harry asked, dumbfounded. Somewhere, in the back of his mind a bell rang but the whole situation had been so disturbing and private that Harry might've missed some crucial hints.

Darragh nodded, almost frantically, blinking rapidly. "Yeah. His family, they're terribly rich and...they've given him an ultimatum; marry or get the fuck out of our lives. And there's this girl and he's twenty-two, so, yeah."

It was difficult to get his mind around.

"And I was so, so angry. Shit. I just wanted to hurt him as much I was. But now, when I'm thinking about. What if my mum and Finbar asked it of me? Would I choose for him? And goddammit, I-" Darragh rubbed at his face tiredly, "There was no way in hell I could've handled that more badly. My reaction was so full of flaws I might have just gone ahead and shot his brains out. Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

Following that logic Harry could most definitively see why he was drowning in guilt. He could come up with only one lame consolation, "You're not perfect you know. It's not your fault."

Darragh managed a quavering smile, "I'm not? Way to go and burst that bubble, mate."

They both huffed a soft laugh.

Darragh put his face in his hand again and asked miserably, "But why didn't he choose me?"

No answer came to Harry.

"I love him," Darragh added in a choked whisper.

Ignoring the half-on shirt, Harry put an arm around him awkwardly. Darragh felt cold to touch.

"I wish I cold bawl my eyes out," Darragh mumbled.

Harry, even though he profoundly wished Darragh wouldn't, assured him valiantly, "You can cry if you want."

On a heavy sigh, Darragh turned to look at him, "I can't, literarily. I've never been able to. Even when I was a baby I couldn't, not even when I was born. Mum though I'd be screwed in the head when I grew up, but I turned out being fairly normal."

Making his voice light and teasing Harry said, "Fairly normal?"

"Oh hush," Darragh said with a mere shadow of his usual grin. He gently pulled out of Harry's half-embrace, and proceeded with putting his shirt on properly and buckling his belt. He flopped down on the bed again, curled loosely on his side.

Unsure whether he was doing the right thing, Harry laid down next to him. They looked at each other. Harry decided that, even though he seemed to be fairly calm, Darragh was still in the process of breaking into tiny pieces on the inside.

"I can't help but wonder whether he'd chosen me if I'd reacted more appropriately," Darragh whispered wretchedly.

Wondering about that, Harry found that Darragh's violent reaction might have been the thing Harry'd have done had he been in that situation. Not by any means a good reaction, but a human one.

Darragh was still following his trail of thoughts, "I don't think he would've. I probably sort of fucked it up, too."

"How come?"

When the golden eyes cut sharply away, Harry knew the answer was going to make them uncomfortable, "You," he just said.

"Oh," Harry said faintly, "Did he, er, know?"

"Know?"

Harry felt himself blush, "That you kissed me?"

There was a long silence, "No. He didn't." They lay breathing in tandem for a while, "Orion and I had agreed to sort ourselves out by the time I got back from that school trip. We were struggling; he's just such a bastard. He's fucking mean. There's no other way to put it. And I knew his parents were pressuring him in a way. He knew that there was someone, I, eh, liked. That kiss, Harry, was saying goodbye to you. I made my decision. I told him. I don't know whether I was too late, or just plain way too late."

It took Harry a while to get over himself so he could answer such an admission; more than ten minutes at least. Darragh didn't seem to mind much, he'd closed his eyes after a while of silence. Eventually Harry said hoarsely, "I'd say something like more fish in the sea and rot like that, but I don't think you want to hear that."

"No, not really," Darragh mumbled, eyes still closed, "Even though he was vicious prat, he never hurt me. Much. Unless we rowed, then he went ugly. He needed barely three words to take the wind out of your sails...

"Still..."

The way Darragh said that last word, like letting go of huge weight for the time being, suggested that that was the last he wanted to say about the matter. While he let him rest, Harry mulled over what he'd just been told. In a strange way Harry felt comforted that a relationship was fucked up by both individuals in it. There was no black and white. On television or in stories, you often went 'that utter bastard', which was easy. The bad character cheated, abandoned or hurt the good character. In truth, real love took two people to turn it sour. Which didn't mean he wasn't more sympathetic to Darragh's case; he was rather convinced he'd only had a look at the tip of the iceberg.

Tuning his head to look at him, Harry said sincerely, "If there is anything I can do to make you feel better..."

The smirk that graced Darragh's lips was a sight to see. He opened his eyes, "You have no idea how dangerous it is to say that." He said in a low voice.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his throat clenching.

Putting his head on Harry's chest, Darragh said in a strange voice, "I could totally appeal to your good nature and go all: 'Harry, please, make me forget, make me feel something else than this pain. Please, oh God, please, just make it stop'."

To say he went cold to the bone was an understatement. Just as to say he felt as though he was burning up.

Darragh added almost casually, "I'm not going to, you prat."

"Oh," Harry managed faintly.

"Unless you feel up to it if course. Maybe a shag will put the world right again. Some good randy monkey sex."

Harry grinned at the tone in his friend's voice and knew that, for now, Darragh was okay. If he could joke about sex again, he was going to pull through.

"Maniac," Harry said, and maneuvered an arm around the brunette.

Slinging a hand across Harry's stomach, Darragh muttered, "Nothing wrong with that. Your loss though."

Out loud, Harry joked, "You just want me because I'm pretty."

Inwardly he though uneasily, 'my loss'.

-=-

When Harry left, Darragh sat on his bed for a long time. Just sitting, legs crossed.

He'd fucked up. Royally. He hadn't been there to support Orion when he needed him the most. Some part of him, the rational part, pointed out that if his mother or Finbar would ever ask such a thing of him -his family or his lover- he'd choose his family, too. Just like Orion had. Books and movies and stories always had a heart-wrenching and sublime ending where true love prevailed and the lovers chose each other. But really? Darragh couldn't imagine not choosing his family. Think about it. Your family or your lover. It's not easy. Then again Darragh basked in the knowledge that even though Finbar might not like his boyfriend, whoever it was, and while he'd voice that opinion loudly, he'd never force Darragh to choose. But if he would have, even though Darragh would never forgive him for it, he'd choose for his family. Finbar was his brother. He loved him. Nobody would understand him better than him. What they shared probably went beyond the usual sibling bond. And his strong, beautiful, selfless mother. The woman who'd fought for them all her life all by herself. He couldn't bear to lose them.

It was a no-win situation. To choose his family would mean breaking something so deeply fundamental between them and to loose his lover. To pick his lover would mean losing his family and a part of himself that could never heal.

Orion had a younger sister he absolutely adored. Much like Darragh adored Finbar. Therefore he understood Orion's decision and the terrible finality of it.

But that didn't mean it hurt less.

Thinking about made it worse. He'd done something terrible. He was hurt, but it probably didn't compare to how Orion felt now.

Darragh slid of the bed and went over to his closet. He grabbed the thickest sweater he could find, donned two scarves and leg-warmers. Then he padded downstairs.

His brother, still cooking God knows what, looked at him when he went into the kitchen.

"Hey,"

"Hey," Darragh returned. "I'm going out for a while."

"Oh?"

"To Blaise's."

Darragh turned around and went into the hall to put on his old and scruffy converse shoes. Trailing behind, holding a spatula, Finbar watched him put on his shoes, his coat, his knit cap and finally his gloves. When he grabbed the keys to his bike, Darragh said, "Don't worry. It's just something I have to do."

Looking torn, Finbar answered, "Alright. But his friends will probably be there. I saw them leave together earlier today."

"I know," Darragh murmured, "At least I hope they are there. I'll be back late, but don't worry."

Leaving his brother looking supremely worried was difficult. Yet the idea that there was one thing today he could do to balance out his awful mistake karma-wise, was what was on his mind. He couldn't fix the situation with Orion. He couldn't fix things with Harry. But there was a slight, tiny, minor and small possibility he could do something else. He would take his chances and try it.

Riding his bike through the forest at that hour and in the current season equaled to just one thought alone: focusing on the icy roads. Thankfully he knew the way well and it took him barely half an hour before he reached the Zabini estate. While he waited, he took in the portrait the house, still falling snow, and muted lights made. His heart firm, Darragh pressed the bell.

His aunt opened the door, a welcoming smile already in place. "Darragh? Come in, come in."

Teeth clattering, Darragh frowned at his Aunt, "You don't sound surprised to see me."

Brinn laughed and helped him out of his coat, snow flaking off with every movement, "No, Finbar called while you were on your way. He wanted to make sure you arrived safely."

Taking a calming breath, Darragh slid out his cellphone in a blink of an eye, took another breath while typing the digits, failed and hollered into his mobile when Finbar picked up, "Thanks a lot, doofus!" and hung up.

"Sorry," Darragh said testily, "I just really wished he'd keep his gob shut about me trying to put my fist through the back of Orion's head, not everybody needs to know. And what did he think I'd do? Ride into the lake?" with a rough gesture he pulled of his knit cap, "It's like having two moms."

His aunt took the cap from him and said sardonically, "Be that as it may, he actually didn't say anything at all about that. He was just a bit concerned with the heavy snowfall. And to be honest, the only other thing he'd said was that he was" she made quotation marks with her hands, "'going to kill the guy' if he didn't drop my sister back off before 12 o'clock."

Darragh faltered. He had completely forgotten about his mother having a date. Dear Lord. The first date in years. So besides worrying himself sick over his brother, Finbar was also frantic about their mother being out with some guy. On a date. Mum was dating. With a guy that wasn't his father. Actually, thank God it was not his father, because that would mean he was on the loose again. But still. Mum. Another bloke. Romantically. Ugh.

He was still staring of in space when Brinn said, "You had a fight with Orion?"

Shaking himself Darragh said, "Eh. Fight. Yes. In a way. Is Blaise home?"

Giving him a look that clearly told him that the change of subjects did not mean he was of the hook in the long run, she answered, "Yeah, he's in the recreation room with his friends."

"Thanks," he muttered and was off.

He gave a warning knock before he entered. The recreation room was actually the music room, but since it was mostly used by the children in the Zabini household, more music-less related items had accumulated there over the years. One side was still an impressive array of instruments and sound equipment, the other was currently occupied by a big couch and a small table to the side. Theodore was fiddling with a guitar, turning knobs on the panels with utmost concentration. Blaise and Alex were on the couch, watching a movie on the big tv-set, Alex obviously nodding off. And at the table was Draco, bent over what was probably an assignment due for Monday.

At his entrance, the harmony was disrupted. Theo accidentally turned a knob the wrong way, causing an enormous 'thump' to rattle the glass of lemonade on Draco's table. Blaise put the movie on pause, sitting up straight. Alex jerked awake. Draco just glared at him.

"Darragh," Blaise said, his voice betraying his knowledge of what had happened this afternoon.

"My, the gossip-vine stretches far here in Hogsmeade," Darragh said ruefully. Despite Draco's filthy glare, he pointedly took the chair opposite of him.

Blaise just gave a philosophical one-shouldered shrug, "Small town. But the gossip aside, how are you?"

It was a very precise methodological manner in which Darragh fished for the best response for his cousin. He needed very few to build up to what he really came to do here. "Besides the fact that my boyfriend is getting married and I consequentially tried to put my fist in his brains, okay. I had Harry giving me some support this afternoon."

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Draco flinch, the carefully written words disrupted with a sharp draw of his pen. He stared at it for an instant, put his pen down and took up his glass.

"Support, how so?" Theo asked from behind him.

Bingo, Darragh though.

"Some good steamy sex," he said, making himself sound smug. There was a gurgling noise and Darragh realized his miscalculation when Draco spat his mouthful of lemonade all over him.

He'd wanted a reaction. But not quite such a wet one.

Hacking and coughing, Draco gasped for air. The other three were staring at him in various states from shock to suspicion. Wiping his face on his sleeve, Darragh said, not as smoothly as he'd had it planned in his head, but smooth nevertheless, "Whatever is wrong Draco? You look a bit peaky."

Peaky being an understatement, Draco's fair complexion had turned ashen. He couldn't form a reply.

"You're not surprised are you? You knew I liked Harry." It felt good to be vicious to someone who deserved it.

The blonde head was bowed, the bangs hiding his face. His hands were shaking.

"I told you he wouldn't wait forever," he said cheerily.

He stood up, ignored the look of outrage on Alex's face and Blaise's arched brows. Walking back to the door felt strange, surreal, but he kept true to his narrative. With the knob in his hand, he said with his back to the room, "Are you feeling positively awful, Draco? Are you?"

The question was met by silence.

"Think about that for a moment. Think how that makes you feel. And do something about it," he turned, looked at the stricken expressions and Draco's shattered one and spoke in a voice completely at odds with the one he'd just used, "Just kidding."

Only Blaise had an 'I knew it' face. The rest looked rather confused. At last Draco managed to speak, albeit not very eloquently, "K-kidding?"

Darragh snorted, "Yeah. Kidding. You fell for it didn't you? But think, for a second, Draco, about how that made you feel."

"I don't understand."

"You don't? Well it'll come to you. Besides, it's not as though Harry's in love with me," and with that, he walked out.

On his ride back home, his mind turned the whole event over and over in his head. It had been too forced, too staged, too dramatic. He felt a bit foolish. As though he'd been playing in a bad movie. Hoping that both Blaise and Alex would at least recognize his intentions for what they were was all he had. Aside from crossing his fingers that his little act had driven a certain point home. If Harry ever found out, he hoped that by then he only had reason to be grateful and not angry at his actions. He sort of did say things that he suspected might not set well with the brunette. Harry was too nice. Sometimes you had to be brutal and cruel. Not much, not often and only with the best of intentions. But Harry wasn't just wired like that, he wouldn't be able to bring himself to say such things. But Darragh could.

Hope, hoping, hoped. That was the keyword here. But he'd done his best.

Now that he felt like he at least balanced out some of his karma, Darragh felt like he deserved something he hadn't done in a long time. So when he got home he took a hot shower, picked out his most comfortable pajamas and padded to his brother's room. It was not very late, but Finbar must've been emotionally drained as well, since he was tucked under two pairs of comforters.

"Finbar," he whispered and stepped into the room.

A small grunt and then Finbar sat up, blinking. His braid hung crookedly over his shoulder, "Darragh? You're home. Is mum back yet?"

"No, she's still out."

"Ah. I've put my alarm for twelve o'clock. I want to be sure she's home before I'm truly asleep."

Darragh was standing in the middle of the room, hugging himself, "You're always worrying. The big protector of the family."

"Hm," he looked at Darragh abruptly, a keen look in his eyes, "what's the matter?"

Shuffling his feet, he muttered, "I was wondering if I could-" he gestured at the bed.

"Ah. Sure," he lifted the covers.

Darragh slid in gratefully, feeling as though he were only six years again and having nightmares. "Thanks,"

"Don't be stupid," Finbar grumbled and easily curled up against him. After a few minutes of breathing in tandem, Finbar put an arm around him too, "I'm glad you're here. I'm worried sick about mum."

Darragh turned his head, nose ending up in Finbar's impossible hair, "I though you'd be. Me too."

"I'm worried sick about you, too."

"I know," Darragh said regretfully and twined his fingers with those of his brother's, "Thank you."

-=-

"Hide me!" Draco ducked behind Alex, making himself small. Taking in consideration that he was nearly two heads taller than her it sort of made the effort moot.

Alex sighed, sharing a look with Blaise, "What is it now?"

"I think I saw Potter and for the love of all that's holy don't move!" Draco demanded, his hands like iron clamps on her shoulders.

"Potter might see you. Dear Lord, that sounds awful," Blaise said, nodding gravely.

It had been like that for the whole week. After the rather climatic events of the weekend, Draco had gone mad. There was no other word for it. It was Thursday and it was the last week before the Christmas hols begun, but his friends were starting to suspect that they'd be bringing him his gifts in St. Mungo's psychiatric ward.

Peeking over Alex's shoulders, he whispered, "Is he gone?"

"Gone?" Blaise said on a snort. "He was never there in the first place. You've been hallucinating Potters for the past four days and, frankly, we're getting a bit worried. A tiny smidgen of worry, but worry nonetheless."

"I don't dream about Potter!" Draco hissed, unfolding his tall frame from behind Alex.

Blaise gave him an exasperated look, "I didn't say that."

"And I'm not hallucinating Potters either," Draco spat. He looked around wildly and muttered, "I need coffee."

"You sure that's a good plan?" Alex wanted to know, as she watched him dig frantically in his wallet, "More coffee?"

Draco threw her a look that could have curdled milk. They always had a monopoly on the third floor coffee machine, it being known as Malfoy's domain. But what with Draco's attitude over the course of week, all the students had started avoiding the coffee machine, opting to take their chances in the Great Hall. Of course, if someone snarled 'you got a death wish?!' at you every few seconds, it was only understandable.

Every time a student with hair a shade darker then brown and glasses came into view, Draco went a bit wild. And while that sort of behavior was tiring, it was nothing compared when he spotted Darragh. Which was what happened now.

The brunette had surprised everybody by showing up on Monday just as always and with an attitude that was only slightly more wild than usual. When he wasn't up to his usual mischief he went quiet in a steely sort of way. Everybody left him alone, since it was obvious that while he was doing quite well for such a rough break-up, he was close to snapping when pushed. And not snap in the weepy sort of way, either. For once Finbar was not joined at his hip, and the youngest Ganad came striding by quite alone.

Blaise whacked him up the head with a newspaper, "Don't growl at my cousin."

With a look would send any other ordinary man cowering, Draco took a sip from his coffee. The liquid had just touched his tongue when Darragh, passing them at that exact moment, shouted, "Hey Harry!"

Draco spew out his mouthful of coffee.

He was fighting against tears in his eyes and a general lack of air when Darragh informed him grouchily, "This spitting? It has got to stop."

Watching Darragh wipe coffee from his face with a look of disgust considerably brightened Draco's day. Of course, that glowing feeling was shot when a terribly familiar voice said, "What happened to you? Is that coffee on your face?"

It seemed Darragh had not been bluffing.

"He spat coffee at me," Darragh said petulantly and pointed at Draco.

With one brow arched, Potter followed the direction of the offending digit and blinked at him.

"Malfoy," he said, sounding surprised.

Draco had been trying to sidle behind Alex, but got pushed in the head for his troubled, "Don't be such a dork," she hissed.

At the lack of response, Potter said with a strange tone to his voice, "Let's go, Ron's waiting for us at the lake," he grabbed Darragh's sleeve and towed him away.

Alex, her eyes narrowed to gleaming green slits as she surveyed the hallway, which had been steadily emptying as students drifted away to get something during the morning break. When the last one disappeared down the stairs she turned on him, "That's enough. What's wrong with you?" she demanded, "You've been twitchy for days now. We know you're sprung on Harry. Do something about it. And stop letting Darragh goad you like that. You're falling into his traps so easily even I'm embarrassed."

"Traps?"

"Traps. He knows you're head over heels for Harry, he's just pushing your face in it," Alex said with erratic gestures that brought the remains of Draco's coffee in considerable peril.

He was about to drink it so it would be safe from any harm in the pit of his stomach when his mind backtracked. Only barely he prevented from spewing another mouthful out. "HE KNOWS? DID YOU TELL HIM?"

Getting another shove against the head was hardly what he suspected. "You prick, whatever makes you think I go around telling people you dream of getting into Harry Potter's pants?"

Draco was still horribly flustered and confused. Which probably accounted for the next stupidity, "How do you know-" he stopped in horror, closing his eyes.

Blaise, not too subtly, snorted.

"Let me rephrase that-" Draco began.

But Alex just patted him on the shoulder, and Draco silenced himself.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of miserable awkwardness. It was all well and good that his friends though him amusing in this state. But Draco was far from amused. He was exhausted and not even a shadow of his usual collected self. When he looked in the mirror he saw dark smudges under his eyes, his eyes almost too feverishly wide. In the last few days he'd lost weight, as he was prone to when stressed and had resorted to drinking what was easily double of his usual caffeine intake. The last, obviously, did nothing at all to keep his cool aloofness. Twitchy wasn't even close. He felt as though he were going insane.

It had started in such a strange moment, when he'd least suspected it. He'd honestly though that he was succeeding at being friends with Potter. He'd been comfortable with him. And you'd think that after you'd slept in a bed with someone, it would become clear whether or not you fancied him. Even touching Potter had left him relatively unruffled. Being with Potter had somehow put light on a facet of himself he hadn't been very familiar with. Not that he wasn't himself around his friends, but they just complimented his personality in a different way than Potter did. And he liked how he could interact with Potter; it was almost a relief at times. It was not a sexual thing.

Until that one morning. It wasn't because Potter had looked good in his clothes. Because in retrospect; holy hell. It had not been because Potter had looked so handsome, suddenly, even though he was still awkwardly built; his shoulders still a bit too wide for his adolescent frame and yet too skinny. It had been because he was attractive and yet the look on his face had clearly told Draco that he was not in the least aware of just how attractive.

Attractive.

Potter was attractive.

Draco still hadn't figured out why that seemed so different from handsome or good-looking. He thought it might be that the last two words were used to describe physical attributes. But attractive, in the way Draco's mind applied it, went beyond the physical and coupled it with Potter's awkwardness, his supreme stubbornness, his loyalty, his general thick-headedness and his charisma. His... Potterness, if you will. Potter attractiveness was accounted for by more than two thirds from his... Potterness. If that made any sense. It did in Draco's head.

People had told him he was ace at repressing, but he hadn't really appreciated that notion until he found out just how good.

He'd looked at Potter, wearing his jeans and looking as though he'd wanted to die from shame and Draco had opened his mouth the say something witty when desire had curved so sharply through his body that it left him quite terrified. It had just gone downhill from there. He'd booted Potter out, and was on his way to Everlind's when he suddenly found himself thinking about Halloween and what had very nearly happened in the bathroom. Even to himself he couldn't quite justify why he hadn't remembered that. He did, but didn't. Obviously he remembered picking a fight with Potter and getting his head smashed against the flagstones and he even recalled just what he'd said to get Potter that far. Somehow, though, the terrible intimacy and his own rampant emotions on Halloween had been conveniently erased from his recollections.

He's thought himself a master at deceiving people. But it turned out he was only a master at deceiving himself.

Add to that the total white-hot fury when Darragh had opened that stupid gob of his and the fact that his dreams had taken a turn into what could only be called a severe case of frustrated teenager hormones... and you had the perfect recipe for a completely crazed Draco Malfoy.

Not that he hadn't ever dreamt about sex, mind you. He was a healthy seventeen year old, so sex was a prominent topic in his dreams. Sex with Potter, though, was something new.

Being the coward he knew himself to be, he dealt with it in what had proved to be a fool-proof method in the past: he ran away.

Of course, what with the repressing issues, he had also managed to repress the fact that his method of tucking his tail between his legs and running was not at all as fool-proof as he believed. Then again it had never backfired quite as spectacularly as it did now.

He'd just had his last class before lunch and he'd been lagging behind as he'd been doing all week; the tuck-and-run method. The later he was in the Hall the less chance of seeing Potter. Potter-avoidance had been his prime objective this week. Of course he had not calculated the actual Potterness-factor in his brilliant strategy.

Meaning that ignoring Potter did not make him go away, as it usually worked with problems.

Draco found out just how true that was when he finally tucked his last book away (after re-arranging his bag three times and purposefully-accidentally dropping it every time so he had to start over) and turned to leave, only to find Potter standing in the doorway.

The yelp he gave was not as manly as it should have been.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Potter said.

He looked strange.

It took a few times to clear his throat, but in the end he managed a cool, "Quite alright, Potter. Let's not dawdle, though, I imagine you have a lunch to inhale? Homework to copy? I have to-" he'd been moving towards the door, intent on making a dash for freedom, but Potter quite purposefully barred his way, pulling the door not entirely closed, yet enough to make the message clear.

Freezing in his tracks, Draco glared at him, not at his face but just over Potter's right shoulder. "Potter, I have better things to do with my free period then being held prisoner by you, so if you don't mind..." he took another step, but Potter didn't budge an inch.

Since Potter didn't look like letting him leave any time soon, he took a step back again and snarled, "What do you want?"

Potter frowned at him, clearly annoyed, "I just want to know what's gotten into you? If it was something I said or did..." he gestured helplessly.

"It's not something you did, really," Draco flared, "you're just boring, alright? So why don't you crawl back to Weasel-bee and stop wasting my time."

"Stop being such a bastard!" Potter spat back, "What's wrong with you? I though we were friends?"

"Oh Potter," Draco marveled at how derisive his voice could sound all of a sudden, "friends? You didn't really think we were friends, do you? Friends is something use between equals. We're hardly equal, are we?"

Words were coming out of his mouth and Draco's brain just sat back watching the unfolding disaster, "I just thought it was fun to hang out with the local queer. On the telly they always make for good comical relief, but even in that field you are sorely lacking," he gave a false smile, "sorry to get your hopes up though."

He made to slip past Potter, but didn't even get close.

Oh dear, he thought meekly when Potter shoved him against a bench, hands clenched around Draco's biceps. It hurt like hell and Potter hadn't even got to the hitting part yet.

Potter was very close all of a sudden. Draco stared wide-eyed as Potter growled, "Don't. Lie."

"I'm not-"

His biceps screamed in protest as Potter bodily shook him, "Don't. You. Even. Dare!" he snarled, each word punctuated with a shake.

On 'dare' Draco accidentally bit his lip and hissed. It seemed to take of the worst out of Potter's rage since his hands stopped squeezing so hard. He did not let go though.

Draco heard himself pant as though he'd run a marathon and he stared in numb shock at the top of Potter's savage black hair as the latter bowed his head. There was a silence, only punctuated by their erratic breathing.

"Don't do this again. I thought you liked me," Potter shook his head and looked up, "I know you like me."

Voice quacking, Draco managed, "You were wrong. I don't like you. Now let me go."

"No."

"I don't like you Potter," Draco said, voice a bit steadier, "now let me go."

"Prove it."

"What?" Draco exclaimed, perplexed.

"Prove that you don't-"

"Potter, you're being childish," Draco interrupted and gave a wrench, trying to get away, but Potter's grip was final, "don't throw a hissy fit because I don't want to be your best mate. Let. Go."

Mouth making a funny shape, Potter said softly, "I think you're misunderstanding me."

"I hear you loud and clear-"

"I'm not talking about liking each other as... as..." Potter swallowed, "as a friend."

His heart was on his tongue and terror took over again, "Even worse than I thought, then. Feeling's not mutual. I recall telling you I found it disgusting. You," Draco heard himself say mildly and he was not directing the last to Potter at all, "are disgusting."

Potter bared his teeth and Draco did not even brace for the blow, because he was just so sick of himself. He did close his eyes as Potter once more knocked him into the desk and he automatically braced himself to keep from going over the other side, but Potter had not let go yet and the blow... didn't came.

"Lair," Potter said angrily, and kissed him.

For all his fury and blazing eyes, Potter was surprisingly gentle. His mouth was hungry and warm and Draco's eyes were wide-open, locked on Potter's black lashes fanned out on his cheekbones. It was also rather wet, but Draco suspected that was the blood from his lip.

It was brief.

Potter pulled back and let him go, blinking as if he'd been slapped awake. His chin was red.

He teetered on the desk for a moment, unbalanced, staring blindly at his blood on Potter's face.

Suddenly, just like his mouth took over when he was afraid or insecure, his body took over.

Draco's hands fished into Potter's jumper and with a strength he hadn't known he possessed he forced Potter backward, against the blackboard. Adrenaline was roaring through his veins when he put his mouth on Potter's savagely, hearing how the latter knocked his head into the board due to the utter force he'd used. Potter didn't seem to mind much, now that Draco was actually kissing him back. Recovering quickly from his surprise, Potter hands came up to Draco's head, his fingers curling into the nape of his neck. I don't know what I'm doing, Draco thought wildly, knowing he lacked any kissing-finesse. But then Potter's mouth opened just slightly, taking control a bit more and Draco stopped thinking at all. It was angry and desperate and hungry. And Draco's blood prevented them from really tasting one other, but Potter kissed him, over and over and Draco's hand curled out of their dead-grip on Potter's shirt and went up to fist again in Potter's hair. Like a thundering rhythm, Draco felt his heart beat in his chest and he could feel a tremor in Potter's hands as he finally managed to slide his hands up his shirt. They felt like hot brands against the small of his back. Instinctively Draco used Potter's hair like a handle, aligning their mouths better to make the kiss even deeper and fire was pooling at the base of Draco's spine.

Tearing his mouth away, quite an achievement considering the fact that Draco had a handful of hair fixed against the blackboard, Potter took a shrieking gasp. Their eyes met, Potter's eyes eerily green and hazed and utterly awed.

Draco had to wonder at that, since everything he'd said and done before the kiss had been hardly awe-inspiring.

Eyes still half-open Potter kissed him, almost chastely, his gaze boring into Draco's. He kissed him again, and again, still watching. Then his eyes fluttered shut and he dragged his mouth in an open, hot trail over Draco's cheek, his jaw and then his neck. Lips trembled there for a second, warm, and then he bit down on Draco's throat; sharp and quick and good. And at Draco's strangled intake of breath, he did it again.

He was quite horrified when he gave a helpless moan. So horrified in fact that he let go of Potter's hair to clap his hand over his mouth in shock.

Chuckling, Potter came up from his neck, eyes lit, and smiling. He kissed Draco's hand, and Draco removed it. Then he kissed his mouth again, his lips curving into a smile again when Draco kissed him back.

"Hello- OH MY-"

The door slammed shut.

It took Draco a moment to realize what had happened.

"No," Draco heard himself say, voice kissed rough, "Oh, God, no."

-=-

It should have been a marvelous day, having had Draco's mouth on his like that. But instead he felt like walking through a minefield, waiting for a bomb to go off. He had one class with Malfoy that afternoon, he could tell he was waiting for the same click underfoot just before the proverbial explosion. Each time someone opened their mouths to speak, Harry tensed, expecting to hear the worst. When it hadn't happened by last class, he'd gone nearly insane, his heart constantly rapping in utter panic against his chest. The bell rang and he gave a sigh of huge relief and started packing his bag. His hands were trembling. His fellow classmates were pouring through the door, ecstatic that the day was over, but someone came pushing through the rush.

He stumbled over to Harry, let his backpack fall to the ground with a loud thud and next thing Darragh whispered, "Is it true?"

Harry didn't manage to reply, and Darragh's hand went around his elbow and he repeated, "Is it true, did you-"

"Oh God," Harry managed.

Darragh looked at his face, blinked and let out a huff of laughter. Then he seemed to remember his urgency, "Harry. Listen to me, someone-"

There was no need for him to finish his sentence, Harry was grabbing his bag and rushing out the door. At first everybody stared at him, just because he pushed and shoved his way through the packed hallway, Darragh somewhere behind. But the closer he got to the exit, where Ron was waiting for him, the more people started whispering.

He'd nearly reached the entrance when he got stuck in the biggest knot of whispering students yet. He was frantically struggling to get through when he heard one voice pitched louder than the others say: "You must be a pretty bad lay, if your boyfriend cheats on you with another bloke."

Dread made his stomach go cold and he craned his neck, but the press of bodies was to dense.

He recognized Alex's voice loud and clear. She sounded supremely calm, "That's alright, I've been cheating on him, too."

There was no surprise anymore when he glimpsed Alex kissing Blaise Zabini. It made even more sense when he saw her lace her fingers through his and her other hand go out to Draco, who took it with no hesitation.

And you had to admire her flair when she said calmly, "Let's go boys," and proceeded with dragging them along.

Harry wanted to catch Draco's eyes, but the crowd rendered him invisible to everybody but those right next to him. Bewildered, he wanted to do something, shout maybe, but then there was Darragh, a hand at the back of Harry's neck, "He'll be fine, let's hightail it out of here," and he steered him away.

The general shock of the student body was not really focused on him, and while he got looks, they didn't stop him to make a scene as they'd done with Draco.

It was still snowing, thick and heavy. The ground was so thickly covered that walking through it was becoming an effort. Harry's urgency at leaving the building had not much to do with fear of the grapevine and his fellow peers. It had to do with Ron. He spotted his friends, waiting where they always waited and he jogged towards them.

Breath puffing out in the air before him, he stared at them. They'd heard. There was confusion and suspicion on some faces and Harry didn't even dare examining Ron's carefully blank expression too closely.

Finally Seamus and Hermione spoke in a jumble of "Harry" and "What is going on" and "Is it true" and "with Malfoy?"

Taking a breath Harry got out an "I-" but trailed off miserably.

The silence was full of unspoken words.

"Ron," he heard misery in the spoken name.

Ron help up a hand, effectively silencing him. He looked at Harry, furious, shook his head and with a bitter turn to his lips, steered his bike away. Harry watched him pass through the gates, mount it, and drive off.

The rest went with him.

Only when Darragh, who had wisely let Harry do this for himself, came up next to him and said, "Harry, listen-"

Listening was hardly what he wanted now, "I'm going home," he said dully.

"Harry," Darragh repeated, and in other circumstances he would have heeded the tone hinting that Darragh was about to say something he didn't know, "wait-"

But Harry was already walking away.

-=-

Sirius asked him over and over what was ailing him, until Remus stopped him, with merely a hand on Sirius' arm. Harry hung about, not saying much and constantly distracted, even Sirius' comforting worry not able to change his disposition. The first time Sirius had asked, Harry had been so tempted to just spill it out. But he felt strange, and it didn't matter that Sirius might understand. He didn't want the cliché talk amongst homosexuals about dealing with such situations and gay-angst in general.

When he walked down the stairs towards his apartment, he was thinking that it felt very much not a 'homosexual situation'. It was just him and Draco. Who happened to be a bloke. It had not much to do with the fact that Draco was a man and everything with the fact that he was Draco Malfoy.

That such a little thing could wreck such havoc, seemed utterly ridiculous compared to his feelings and emotions towards the blonde.

When he opened the door, the phone was ringing like mad. Harry ignored it, only interested when his mobile rang, because that was the only number Draco had. If it was Ron, Harry couldn't talk to him over the phone. Besides, the expression on Ron's face didn't really give Harry much hope that he'd be calling.

It was as though someone had scooped out his insides and had replaced them with squirming maggots. He felt awful. And his heart just didn't stop racing.

He lumbered about for nearly three hours, started to watch a movie only to turn it off again, observed Nyoka gulp down dead mice and curl up happily in her tank and started to clear the room just to stop half-way through. There was a set of pajamas laid out on Sirius' bed and Harry put them on the table, expecting Remus to fetch them later on. He kept this pointless flitting about until it was a decent time to go to bed.

He took a scalding shower and was toweling his hair when the doorbell rang. Wishing Remus would just use the key instead of ringing the bell each time, he wound the towel a bit more securely around his hips and went to open the door.

"You can come in without buzz..." Harry faltered, "oh."

"Don't have a key," Draco Malfoy said. His teeth clattered violently as he added, "Can I come in?"

_______________

Chapter title is from The Verve (this is is my absolute favorite song).

Hope you all loved that, make sure to let me know! And please applaud my beta; who despite being buried in work, is still by my side!


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